PRELUDES   AND  STUDIES. 


Preludes  and  St 


MUSICAL    THEMES 


BY 


W.     J.     HENDERSON 

AUTHOR  OF   "TUB  STOKV   OF   MUSIC  " 


LONGMANS,     GREEN,     AND     CO. 

91    and    93    FIFTH    AVENUE,    NEW    YORK 

LONDON  AND  BOMBAY 

1901 


Copyright,  1891,  BV 
W.   J.   HENDERSON 


First  Edition,  October,  1891 

Reprinted,  October,  1S92,  September,  1894 

November.  1897,  and  March,  1901 


T«ow  mmcioit 

WKTIHO  «H0   lOOKBiNOINO  CO«««lf 
MW    YORK 


Go 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  AND  FELLOW  LABORER 

H.    E.    KREHBIEL 

"  To  know  what  you  prefer,  instead  of  humbly  saying  '  Amen  '  to 
what  the  world  tells  you  you  ought  to  prefer,  is  to  have  kept  your 
soul  alive."— Robert  Louis  Stevenson 


PREFATORY   NOTE. 


The  "  Study  of '  Der  Ring  des  Nibelungen ' " 
now  appears  in  its  completed  form  for  the  first 
time.  Parts  of  it  have  been  printed  in  the  col- 
umns of  the  New  York  Times,  but  much,  if  not 
most,  of  it  was  written  expressly  for  this  vol- 
ume. The  articles  under  the  general  heading  of 
"  Wagneriana  "  are  republished  from  the  Times. 
My  thanks  are  due  to  the  editor  and  the  pro- 
prietor of  that  journal  for  liberty  to  treat  these 
essays  as  my  personal  property.  The  first  and 
second  parts  of  the  paper  on  "  The  Evolution 
of  Piano  Music,"  are  taken  from  lectures  deliv- 
ered before  the  students  of  the  New  York  Col- 
lege of  Music.  In  its  completed  form  this  essay 
is  practically  new,  and  the  major  portion  of  it 
has  not  been  in  type  before.  The  study  of 
Schumann's  symphonic  music  was  written  for 

this  volume. 

W.  J.  Henderson. 


CONTENTS. 


/ 


A  Study  of  "Der  Ring  des  Nibelungen."  fAGK 

I. — The  Story. . . , 3 

II. — The  Philosophy  and  the  Humanity 34 

III. — Some  Objections  to  Leit-Motiven 50 

IV. — Comments  and  Commentators 63 

Wagnerian  a. 

I.— The  Book  of  "Parsifal" 87 

II.— A  Study  in  "Tristan" 105 

III. — The  Endurance  of  Wagner's  Works. 116 

The  Evolution  of  Piano  Music. 

I. — Laying  the  Foundations 125 

II. — Development  of  the  Technique 150 

III. — The  Modern  Concerto 174 

IV. — Some  Living  Players 185 

Schumann  and  the  Programme-symphony 203 


A  STUDY  OF  "DER  RING  DES  NI- 
BELUNGEN." 


A  STUDY  OF  "DER   RING  DES  NI- 
BELUNGEN." 


I.  —  The   Story. 


Why  is  it  that  the  Nibelungen  music-dramas, 
constructed  on  methods  wholly  opposed  to  those 
with  which  generations  of  opera-goers  are  famil- 
iar, often  moving  on  planes  of  gloom  and  trag- 
edy, offering  none  of  the  glitter  and  complex 
movement  of  spectacular  operas,  frequently  illus- 
trated in  music  prolific  in  harshness  and  discord, 
have  taken  such  a  hold  on  the  public  mind  wher- 
ever they  have  had  a  fair  hearing  ? 

The  answer  is  simple.  They  are  great  dra- 
matic poems  set  to  music.  Wagner  was,  first, 
last,  and  all  the  time,  a  lyric  dramatist ;  and 
though  this  present  epoch,  still  bearing  in  mind 
the  old-fashioned  libretto,  which  had  little  or  no 
dramatic  force  and  no  poetic  strength,  insists 
upon  estimating  the  value  of  the  man's  work 
chiefly  by  his  scores,  it  can  hardly  be  doubted 


4  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

that  the  future  will  award  him  a  rank  as  a  libret- 
tist equal  to  that  which  he  holds  in  music.  The 
prophet  is  not  without  honor  in  his  own  coun- 
try. There  his  dramas  are  regarded  as  great 
works.  Elsewhere  the  exclamation  of  the  anti- 
Wagnerite  continually  is,  "  I  do  not  like  Wag- 
ner's music."  He  seldom  troubles  himself  to 
express  an  opinion  as  to  the  libretto,  though 
the  entire  Wagnerian  system  rests  upon  the 
proposition  that  the  music  must  be  subservient 
to  the  book.  Operas,  such  as  "  Euryanthe," 
have  succeeded  by  sheer  force  of  musical  ex- 
cellence in  spite  of  bad  librettos  ;  but  this  does 
not  shake  Wagner's  position.  It  is  possible  to 
have  music  without  a  libretto ;  further  than 
that,  it  is  possible  to  have  music  with  a  libretto 
and  nothing  more,  as  in  the  cantata  and  oratorio. 
But  the  moment  we  adopt  the  apparatus  of  the 
theatre  we  assume  the  form  of  the  drama,  and 
it  is  obvious  that  Wagner  is  right  in  asserting 
that  with  the  form  we  must  take  also  the  sub- 
stance. That  the  lovers  of  the  operatic  stage 
are  generally  falling  into  Wagner's  way  of  think- 
ing is  indicated  by  the  fact  that  the  operas 
which  have  attained  or  retained  favor  of  late 
years  are  those  which  have  dramatic  librettos. 
"  Aida,"  "  Otello,"  " The  Queen  of  Sheba," 
may  be   mentioned   among   those  which   have 


THE  STORY.  5 

achieved  success  ;  "  Faust,"  "  La  Juive,"  "  Les 
Huguenots,"  among  those  which  have  kept  it. 
On  the  other  hand,  an  operatic  season  which 
relies  for  its  attractiveness  on  "  Lucia,"  "  La 
Traviata,"  and  their  kind,  unless  succored  by 
the  factitious  aid  of  some  renowned  singer,  is 
doomed  to  disaster.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
plays  to  interest  the  auditors,  and  in  the  present 
state  of  public  taste  they  will  not  sit  through 
three  hours  of  inanity  to  hear  three  or  four  in- 
spired numbers,  unless  those  numbers  are  to  be 
delivered  with  matchless  eloquence. 

An  art  work  must  be  viewed  through  its  de- 
sign. To  enter  upon  the  consideration  of  any 
creation  of  the  human  mind  with  a  pre-estab- 
lished hostility  to  the  plan  on  which  it  is  con- 
structed, is  not  only  ungenerous,  but  unjust. 
The  primary  postulate  of  the  Wagner  theory  is 
best  expressed  in  Hamlet's  words  :  "  The  play's 
the  thing."  Let  us  then  review  the  story  of  the 
Nibelung's  ring.  

"  From  the  womb  of  night  and  of  death,"  says 
Wagner,  allowing  his  mystical  fancy  free  play, 
"there  sprang  a  race  who  dwelt  in  Nibelheim 
(Nebelheim,  the  place  of  mists),  that  is,  in  dim 
subterranean  chasms  and  caves.  They  were 
called  Nibelungen.  Like  worms  in  a  dead  body, 
they    swarmed    in    varying,    reckless    activity, 


6  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

through  the  entrails  of  the  earth  ;  they  wrought 
in  metals — heated  and  purified  them.  Among 
them  Alberich  gained  possession  of  the  bright 
and  beautiful  gold  of  the  Rhine — the  Rheingold 
— drew  it  up  out  of  the  depths  of  the  waters, 
and  made  from  it,  with  great  and  cunning  art,  a 
ring,  which  gave  him  power  over  all  his  race,  the 
Nibelungen.  Thus  he  became  their  master,  and 
forced  them  henceforth  to  labor  for  him  alone, 
and  so  collected  the  inestimable  treasure  of  the 
Nibelungen,  the  chief  jewel  of  which  was  the 
Tarnhelm  (helmet),  by  means  of  which  one 
could  assume  any  figure  that  he  chose,  and 
which  Alberich  had  compelled  his  own  brother, 
Regin,  to  forge  for  him.  Thus  equipped,  Al- 
berich strove  for  the  mastery  of  the  world  and 
all  that  was  in  it.  The  race  of  the  giants — 
the  insolent,  the  mighty,  the  primeval  race — 
was  disturbed  in  its  savage  ease ;  its  enormous 
strength,  its  simple  wit  were  not  enough  to  con- 
tend against  Alberich's  ambitious  cunning.  The 
giants  saw  with  apprehension  how  the  Nibel- 
ungen forged  wondrous  weapons,  which,  in  the 
hands  of  human  heroes,  should  bring  about  the 
ruin  of  the  giant  race.  The  race  of  the  gods, 
rapidly  rising  to  omnipotence,  made  use  of  this 
conflict.  Wotan  agreed  with  the  giants  that 
they  should  build  for  the  gods  a  castle,    from 


THE   STORY.  7 

which  they  might  order  and  rule  the  world  in 
safety,  but  after  it  was  done  the  giants  demanded 
the  treasure  of  the  Nibelungen  as  their  reward. 
The  great  cunning  of  the  gods  succeeded  in  the 
capture  of  Alberich,  and  he  was  compelled  to 
give  the  treasure  as  a  ransom  for  his  life.  The 
ring  alone  he  sought  to  keep,  but  the  gods, 
knowing  well  that  the  secret  of  his  power  lay  in 
this,  took  the  ring  from  him.  Then  he  laid  a 
curse  upon  it,  that  it  should  prove  the  ruin  of  all 
who  should  possess  it.  Wotan  gave  the  treas- 
ure to  the  giants,  but  the  ring  he  kept  to  insure 
his  own  omnipotence.  The  giants,  however, 
forced  it  from  him  by  their  threats,  and  Wo- 
tan yielded  at  the  advice  of  the  three  Fates 
(Nornen),  who  warned  him  of  the  approaching 
downfall  of  the  gods." 

This  is  Wagner's  own  picturesque  version  of 
that  part  of  the  Nibelungen  story  on  which  the 
whole  of  his  tetralogy  is  based.  Let  us  go  back 
to  the  great  original  source  of  this  tale.  In 
the  translation  of  the  Volsunga  Saga,  made  by 
Eirikr  Magnusson  and  the  poet,  William  Morris, 
Regin,  son  of  Hreidmar,  and  foster-father  of 
Sigurd  (Siegfried),  tells  the  youth  his  story.  He 
was  one  of  three  brothers,  the  other  two  being 
Fafnirand  Otter.  Regin  himself  was  a  cunning 
smith.     Otter  was  a  fisherman  who  lay  on  the 


8  " DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

river  bank  disguised  in  an  otter  skin.  Fafnir 
was  of  the  three  "  the  greatest  and  grimmest.'' 
"  Now,"  says  Regin,  "  there  was  a  dwarf  called 
Andivari  [Alberich],  who  ever  abode  in  that 
force  [waterfall,  from  the  Icelandic  fori]  which 
was  called  Andivari's  force,  in  the  likeness  of 
a  pike,  and  got  meat  for  himself,  for  many 
fish  there  were  in  the  force.  Now,  Otter,  my 
brother,  was  ever  wont  to  enter  into  the  force  and 
bring  fish  a-land,  and  lay  them  one  by  one  on 
the  bank.  And  so  it  befell  that  Odin,  Loki,  and 
Hoenir,  as  they  went  their  ways,  came  to  Andi- 
vari's force,  and  Otter  had  taken  a  salmon  and 
ate  it  slumbering  upon  the  river  bank.  Then 
Loki  took  a  stone  and  cast  it  at  Otter,  so  that  he 
got  his  death  thereby.  The  gods  were  well  con- 
tent with  their  prey  and  fell  to  flaying  off  the 
otter's  skin.  And  in  the  evening  they  came  to 
Hreidmar's  house  and  showed  him  what  they 
had  taken  ;  thereon  he  laid  hands  on  them  and 
doomed  them  to  such  ransom,  as  that  they 
should  fill  the  otter  skin  with  gold,  and  cover  it 
over  with  red  gold.  So  they  sent  Loki  to  gather 
gold  together  for  them.  He  came  to  Ran  [God- 
dess of  the  Sea]  and  got  her  net,  and  went  forth- 
with to  Andivari's  force,  and  cast  the  net  before 
the  pike,  and  the  pike  ran  into  the  net  and  was 
taken.     Then  said   Loki  : 


THE  STORY.  9 

"  '  What  fish  of  all  fishes 

Swims  strong  in  the  flood, 
But  hath  learnt  little  wit  to  beware  ? 

Thine  head  must  thou  buy 

From  abiding  in  hell, 
And  find  me  the  wan  waters'  flame.' 

"  He  answered  : 

"  '  Andivari  folk  call  me, 

Call  Oinn  my  father, 
Over  many  a  force  have  I  fared  ; 

For  a  Norn  of  ill  luck 

This  life  on  me  lay 
Through  wet  ways  ever  to  wade.' 

"  So  Loki  beheld  the  gold  of  Andivari,  and 
when  he  had  given  up  the  gold  he  had  but  one 
ring  left  and  that  also  Loki  took  from  him  ; 
then  the  dwarf  went  into  a  hollow  of  the  rocks 
and  cried  out  that  the  gold  ring,  yea,  and  all  of 
the  gold  withal,  should  be  the  bane  of  every 
man  who  should  own  it  thereafter. 

"  Now  the  gods  rode  with  the  treasure  to 
Hreidmar,  and  fulfilled  the  otter  skin  and  set 
it  on  its  feet,  and  they  must  cover  it  utterly 
with  gold ;  but  when  this  was  done  then  Hreid- 
mar came  forth  and  beheld  yet  one  of  the  muzzle 
hairs  and  bade  them  cover  that  withal.  Then 
Odin  drew  the  ring,  Andivari's    loom,  from   his 


10  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

hand  and  covered  up  the  hair  therewith.     Then 
sang  Loki : 

"  '  Gold  enow,  gold  enow, 

A  great  weregild,  thou  hast, 
That  my  head  in  good  hap  I  may  hold  ; 

But  thou  and  thy  son 

Are  naught  fated  to  thrive  ; 
The  bane  shall  it  be  of  you  both.' 

"  Thereafter,"  says  Regin,  "  Fafnir  slew  his 
father  and  murdered  him,  nor  got  I  aught  of 
the  treasure.  And  so  evil  he  grew  that  he  fell 
to  lying  abroad,  and  begrudged  any  share  in  the 
wealth  to  any  man,  and  so  became  the  worst  of 
all  worms,  and  even  now  lies  brooding  upon 
that  treasure ;  but  for  me,  I  went  to  the  King 
and  became  his  master-smith  ;  and  thus  is  the 
tale  told  of  how  I  lost  the  heritage  of  my  father 
and  the  weregild  for  my  brother." 

Then  Sigurd  bids  Regin,  whom  the  reader 
will  readily  identify  with  Mime,  to  weld  him  a 
sword  that  he  may  do  great  deeds  therewith. 
To  which  Regin  replies  : 

"  Trust  me  well  herein  ;  and  with  that  same 
sword  shalt  thou  slay  Fafnir." 

This  story,  as  well  as  the  others  employed  to 
form  a  ground-work  for  the  Nibelungen  Tetral- 
ogy, Wagner  has   modified  to  suit  his  own   pur- 


THE  STORY.  II 

poses,  but  without  changing  the  ethical  condi- 
tions lea^3Tng^tothe  "  Gotterdammerung,"  or 
final  decline  of  the  gods.  The  rising  of  the  cur- 
tain in  "  Das  Rheingold  "  reveals  the  depths  of 
the  Rhine,  with  the  three  Rhine  daughters, 
Woglinde,  Wellgunde,  and  Flosshilde,  sporting 
in  their  native  element.  Alberich,  the  dwarf, 
the  Andivari  of  the  Volsunga  Saga,  ascends  for 
the  first  time  from  the  nether  gloom  of  Nibel- 
heim,  and,  though  a  subterranean  personage, 
has  no  trouble  whatever  in  breathing  and  speak- 
ing in  the  watery  waste.  He  is  infatuated  with 
the  beauty  of  the  maidens  and  seeks  to  capture 
one  of  them.  They  elude  him  with  taunts  and 
gibes,  which  inflame  him  to  fury.  He  reviles 
them  bitterly.  Suddenly  a  glow  breaks  through 
the  waters.  "  Look,  sisters,"  cries  Woglinde, 
"  the  wakener  laughs  in  the  deep."  The  sisters 
greet  the  flaming  treasure,  for  this  is  the  glow  of 
the  wondrous  Rhinegold,  and  shout  together : 

Rheingold  !     Rheingold  !     Leuchtende  Lust ! 
Wie  lachst  du  so  hell  und  hehr. 

Which  is,  being  interpreted,  "  Rhinegold  !  glit- 
tering joy  !  How  laughest  thou,  so  bright  and 
holy."  Alberich,  astonished  by  the  glow,  asks 
what  causes  it.  The  maidens  inquire  where  in 
the  world  he  came  from  that  he  never  heard  of 


12  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

the  Rhinegold,  and  they  proceed  to  expatiate  on 
its  beauties  and  its  power.  Tppy  tell  him  that 
he  shall  be  mightiest  of  all  living  who  can  fash- 
ion a  ring_from  this  gold,  but  they  add  that  only 
one  who  renounces  love  forever  can  accomplish 
this.  Alberich,  after  a  minute's  meditation, 
shouts7~"  Hear  me,  ye  floods  !  Love  I  renounce 
forever."  Seizing  the  gold,  he  disappears  in  the 
depths  below.  The  maidens  dive,  wailing,  into 
the  deeper  waters,  and  the  scene  changes. 

In  the  background  is  Walhalla,  the  new  castle 
built  for  the  gods  by  the  giants.  Fricka,  the 
Goddess  of  Marriage,  lies  asleep  by  the  side  of 
her  spouse,  Wotan.  Between  them  and  the 
castle  lies  the  valley  of  the  Rhine.  Wotan 
awakes  and  salutes  the  new  castle.  Fricka  re- 
minds him  that  he  has  promised  the  giants 
Freia,  her  sister,  the  Goddess  of  Eternal  Youth, 
as  the  reward  of  their  labors.  Wotan  frankly 
admits  that  he  never  had  any  idea  of  giving  her 
up.  She  now  appears,  demanding  protection, 
being  closely  pursued  by  the  giants,  Fafner  and 
Fasolt.  Wotan  tells  them  to  seek  other  guer- 
don, as  he  will  not  give  up  Freia.  Fasolt  re- 
minds Wotan  of  the  fact  that  it  is  dangerous 
for  him  to  break  a  contract.  "  What  thou  art," 
he  says,  "  art  thou  only  by  treaties  conformable, 
well  defined  as  thy  might."     The  giants  insist 


THE  STORY.  1 3 

on  their  reward.  Froh  and  Donner,  the  broth- 
ers of  Freia,  interpose  and  threaten  violence. 
Finally  Wotan  admits  that  he  is  forced  to  keep 
his  contract,  but  his  spirits  rise  when  he  be- 
holds Loge,  or  Loki,  approaching.  Loge  is  the 
cunning  counsellor  of  the  gods,  who  is  in  his 
heart  plotting  for  their  downfall.  He  has  been 
searching  for  some  substitute  to  offer  the  giants 
instead  of  Freia.  He  finally  tells  the  story 
of  Alberich's  theft  of  the  gold,  and  says  he 
has  promised  the  Rhine  daughters  to  speak 
to  Wotan  about  the  outrage.  The  giants  are 
alarmed  at  this  additional  power  gained  by  their 
natural  enemies,  the  dwarfs,  and  Loge  increases 
their  fears,  as  well  as  excites  the  ambition  of 
Wotan,  by  describing  the  wonderful  power  of 
the  Ring  of  the  Nibelungen.  The  giants  de- 
clare that  they  will  accept  the  Rhinegold  instead 
of  Freia,  and  carry  her  off  to  be  held  as  hostage 
till  Wotan  shall  have  decided. 

Loge  and  Wotan  descend  through  the  cavern- 
ous passage  to  Nibelheim.  The  scene  changes 
and  the  caves  of  the  earth  are  revealed.  Alberich 
enters  dragging  Mime.  The  latter  has  just 
made  the  wonderful  tarn  helm  which  enables 
the  wearer  to  become  invisible  or  assume  any 
shape.  Alberich  takes  the  tarn  helm  away 
from  Mime  and  disappears  in  a  column  of  smoke 


14  " DEN  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

after  beating  his  unhappy  brother.  Wotan  and 
Loge  arrive,  and  Mime  tells  them  of  Alberich's 
power.  The  latter  returns,  driving  his  Nibel- 
ung  slaves  before  him.  He  tells  Wotan  and 
Loge  that  he  will  master  the  whole  world,  and 
that  even  the  gods  will  become  his  subjects. 
Loge  induces  Alberich  to  give  an  exhibition  of 
the  tarn  helmet's  powers.  The  dwarf  changes 
himself  to  a  serpent,  and  then  to  a  toad.  When 
he  has  accomplished  the  second  transformation 
Loge  sets  his  foot  on  him,  while  Wotan  seizes 
the  helmet.  They  bind  Alberich  and  drag  him 
away. 

The  scene  of  action  is  once  more  the  plain 
before  Walhalla.  The  two  gods  appear  drag- 
ging Alberich.  He  asks  what  ransom  they 
demand,  and  they  name  the  gold.  He  gives 
this  readily,  because  he  knows  where  to  get 
more.  Wotan  demands  the  ring,  and  on  Albe- 
rich's refusing  to  give  it  up,  tears  it  from  his  fin- 
ger. Then  the  Nibelung  lays  his  curse  upon 
the  ring  and  disappears.  The  giants  approach 
with  Freia.  Fasolt  demands  her  ransom  and 
Wotan  points  to  the  hoard.  The  giants  meas- 
ure off  a  space  as  broad  and  as  high  as  the  god- 
dess. The  tarn  helm  has  to  be  thrown  in  to 
make  the  pile  good.  One  little  crevice  lets  the 
light  through,  and  the  giants  demand  that  the 


THE  STORY.  I  5 

ring  shall  be  placed  there.  Wotan  refuses,  but 
Erda  (Mother-Earth)  rises  out  of  the  ground, 
warns  him  against  the  curse,  and  foretells  the 
downfall  of  the  gods.  She  sinks  and  Wotan 
tosses  the  ring  to  the  giants,  releasing  Freia. 
Alberich's  curse  begins  to  operate  at  once.  The 
giants  quarrel.  Fafner  slays  Fasolt,  and  goes 
off  with  the  hoard,  the  tarn  helm,  and  the  ring. 
Wotan  is  filled  with  gloomy  thoughts,  but  is  in- 
spired with  the  idea  of  creating  a  race  of  demi- 
gods who  shall  defend  him  against  his  enemies. 
Donner  mounts  a  rock  and  swings  his  hammer. 
Black  clouds  descend :  lightning  flashes,  and 
thunder  peals.  The  clouds  disappear,  revealing 
the  arch  of  a  glorious  rainbow  spanning  the  sil- 
ver valley  of  the  haunted  Rhine.  Wotan,  in  a 
speech  of  sublime  majesty,  summons  his  wife  to 
come  and  dwell  with  him  in  Walhalla,  thus  for 
the  first  time  naming  the  new  castle.  The  gods 
move  toward  their  new  abode.  The  Rhine 
daughters  in  the  waters  below  cry  to  Wotan  to 
restore  their  ring.  He  bids  them  cease  their 
cfcrmor,  and  the  gods  and  goddesses  march  tri- 
umphantly on  the  rainbow  into  Walhalla  as  the 
final  curtain  descends. 

This  drama  plays  the  part  of  a  "  prologue  in 
heaven."  It  is  the  key  to  all  that  follows,  and 
I  have,  therefore,  given  its  story  more  fully  than 


1 6  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

I  need  to  give  those  of  the  other  three  dramas. 
My  dear  friend  and  fellow-laborer,  H.  E.  Kreh- 
biel,  has  clearly  demonstrated  the  fact  that  the 
true  hero  of  the  tragedy  of  "  The  Nibelung's 
Ring  "  is  Wotan,  and  the  real  plot  is  concerned 
with  his  struggles  to  free  himself  from  the  inev- 
itable retribution  that  must  follow  a  crime.  At 
the  very  outset  of  the  "  Rhinegold  "  we  behold 
in  Wotan  a  tragic  hero,  a  victim  of  remorseless 
fate.  Jealous  of  the  growth  of  the  darker  pow- 
ers, he  has  offered  the  giants  a  bribe  that  he 
does  not  mean  to  pay.  This  is  the  secret  of  the 
whole  tragedy.  This  making  of  a  false  promise 
is  the  beginning  of  the  downfall  of  the^Esir; 
for  Wotan's  power  is  based  upon  the  inviola- 
bility of  his  word.  It  is  this  which  causes  the 
astonishment  of  the  giants  when  Wotan  bids 
them  dismiss  the  idea  of  obtaining  Freia. 
"  What!"  they  exclaim,  "will  you  dare  to  break 
a  contract  ?  What  you  are,  you  are  by  the  sa- 
credness  of  contracts." 

This  single  error  is  the  basis  of  Wotan's  de- 
struction. A  brilliant  novelist  of  our  time  has 
written  these  words  :  "  This  is  the  greatest 
evil  which  lies  in  evil,  that  the  ashes  of  past 
guilt  are  too  often  the  larvae  of  fresh  guilt,  and 
one  crime  begets  a  brood  which,  brought  to 
birth,  will  strangle  the  life  in  which  they  were 


THE  STORY.  1 7 

conceived."  Wotan,  finding  that  there  is  no  es- 
cape, turns  for  help  and  advice  to  Loge,  the  God 
of  Evil,  the  spirit  of  flickering,  treacherous  fire, 
the  master  of  cunning  and  deceit ;  and  he  in- 
troduces to  gods  and  giants  the  lust  for  gold. 
Loge  seeks  the  downfall  of  the  gods.  Therefore, 
he  induces  Wotan  to  avoid  the  crime  of  break- 
ing a  contract  by  committing  that  of  robbery. 
The  giants  are  willing  to  accept  the  Rhinegold 
and  the  ring  in  lieu  of  Freia.  In  order  to  get 
the  Rhinegold,  Wotan  must  take  it  by  force  from 
Alberich,  and  thus  the  crime  is  begotten  of  the 
false  promise,  the  inviolability  of  Wotan's  god- 
hood  is  shattered,  and  the  "  Gotterdammerung," 
the  decline  of  the  gods,  is  brought  within  appre- 
ciable distance.  The  fact  that  Alberich  curses 
the  ring,  which  thenceforward  becomes  fatal  to 
all  who  hold  it  instead  of  giving  them  the 
power  of  the  world,  gains  in  significance  when 
viewed  from  this  stand-point.  It  is  not  a  mere 
decree  of  destruction  against  some  of  those 
whom  Wotan  is  to  create  for  his  own  help,  but 
it  is  also  a  formulation  of  the  principle  of  retri- 
butive justice  which  is  to  work  out  the  god's  fate. 
It  endows  the  stolen  thing  with  the  power  of 
punishing  the  theft — that  misdeed  for  which 
Wotan  suffers,  the  wrong  which  he  vainly  strives 
to  right.     It  is  for  this  reason  that  Erda,  the 


1 8  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELC/NGEN." 

wisest  of  the  earth,  rises  to  warn  the  god,  say- 
ing: 

Heed  my  warning,  0  Wotan  ! 
Flee  the  curse  of  the  ring  ! 

Irretrievable, 

Darkest  destruction 
With  it  thou  wilt  win. 

And  before  sinking  again  she  says  : 

A  day  of  gloom 
Dawns  for  the  godly  ; 
I  warn  thee,  beware  of  the  ring. 

When  Erda  has  sunk  into  the  earth  once  more 
Wotan  is  wrapped  in  thought.  He  may  not 
take  the  ring  away  from  Fafner,  who  now  holds 
it,  because  he  is  forbidden  to  use  force  where 
he  has  made  a  contract ;  but  he  may  create  a 
race  of  demi-gods,  one  of  whom,  working  as  a 
free  agent,  shall  secure  the  ring  and  return  it  to 
its  rightful  owners,  the  Rhine  maidens.  Then 
for  the  first  time  he  names  the  new  castle  Wal- 
halla,  and  Fricka  asks  the  meaning  of  that 
name.     Wotan  replies : 

What  mighty  in  fear 
I  made  to  my  mind 
Shall,  if  safe  to  success, 
Soon  be  made  clear  to  thy  sense. 


THE  STORY.  1 9 

Now,  who  is  to  right  a  wrong  done  by 
Wotan  ?  Obviously  only  the  person  whom  he 
has  in  mind  in  this  speech,  a  being  who  is  of  his 
own  blood.  By  Wotan's  seed  alone  can  Wotan's 
sin  be  atoned.  The  ethical  significance  of  this 
idea  is  the  key  to  all  that  follows  "  Das  Rhein- 
gold/'  It  is  the  only  apology  for  the  humanly 
unholy  relations  of  Siegmund  and  Sieglinde  ;  * 
and  it  is  the  explanation  of  the  failure  of  the 
god's  plan  through  the  sin  of  Siegfried  in  "  Die 
Gotterdammerung,"  which  sin  is  brought  about 
by  the  machinations  of  Alberich's  son,  Hagen. 

The  sacrifice  of  Siegmund  is  not  understood, 
I  fear,  even  by  many  of  Wagner's  admirers. 
Wotan's  plan  of  restitution  through  a  free  agent 
is  good,  but  the  troubled  and  hampered  god 
does  not  carry  it  out  successfully.  Siegmund 
is  a  failure  because  he  is  not  a  free  agent,  and 

*  I  am  not  bound  to  defend  Wagner's  morals.  The  relations 
between  Siegmund  and  Sieglinde  are  outrageous,  in  spite  of 
the  logical  demand  that  Wotan's  wrong  should  be  atoned  for 
by  Wotan's  blood.  It  is  a  pity  that  Wagner  could  not  have 
found  means  to  avoid  this  difficulty.  It  is  like  other  errors,  in 
that  it  leads  the  erring  one  still  farther  astray  ;  for  it  results  in 
Siegfried's  marrying  his  half-aunt.  Siegmund  and  Sieglinde  are 
children  of  Wotan  ;  so  is  BrUnnhilde  ;  hence  she  is  their  half- 
sister,  and  her  relation  to  their  son,  Siegfried,  becomes  pain- 
fully obvious.  This  comes  of  dealing  with  mythologies,  which 
are  proverbially  improper. 


20  " DER  RING  DES  NIBELC7NGEN." 

it  is  Fricka  who,  in  her  indignation  at  outraged 
marriage  ties,  lays  her  finger  upon  the  weak 
spot  in  Wotan's  plan.  Here  is  the  passage  * 
which  explains  the  issue  of  the  combat  in  "  Die 
Walkure:" 

WOTAN. 
A  hero  we  need 
Who,  free  from  the  word  of  the  gods, 
Is  loose  from  the  grasp  of  their  law. 
Such  one  alone 
Can  accomplish  the  deed 
That,  though  of  need  to  the  gods, 
May  not  by  a  god  be  outwrought. 

Fricka. 

By  dense  enigmas 

Thou  wouldst  fain  daze  me. 

What  high  deeds,  then, 

Can  heroes  accomplish 
That  must  be  gainsaid  to  the  gods — 
Through  whose  will  alone  they  can  work  ? 

*  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  some  of  those  scenes  in  which  the 
most  important  elements  of  the  plot  of  the  Nihelung  tetralogy 
are  exposed  are  talky,  tiresome,  and  undramatic  We  are  told 
by  those  whom  I  call  extreme  Wagnerites  that  the  music  sus- 
tains the  interest.  They  ought  to  comprehend  that  this  is 
simply  an  adaptation  to  their  needs  of  the  view  of  the  Ital- 
ianissimi,  who  contend  that  the  music  should  be  the  princi- 
pal object  of  interest  all  the  time.  Let  us  admit  the  truth  : 
Wagner  is  sometimes  a  German  dramatist  and  writes  talk,  talk, 
talk. 


THE  STORY.  21 


WOTAN. 


Their  own  good  courage 
Thou  countest  as  naught. 

Fricka. 

Who  breathed  this  courage  in  them  ? 
Whose  brightness  breaks  from  their  glance  ? 

Beneath  thy  shelter 

Great  is  their  strength, 

Stirred  by  thy  spirit, 

Upward  they  strive. 
Thou  urgest  them  onward — 
So  blatantly  boastest  thou  oft. 

With  new  deceit 

Thou  wouldst  deceive  me  ? 

By  new  devices 

Seek  to  avoid  me  ? 

But  for  this  Volsung 

In  vain  dost  thou  plead  : 
In  him  I  find  but  thyself; 
From  thee  alone  his  defiance. 


She  also  shows  her  knowledge  of  the  fact 
that  Wotan  placed  the  sword  in  the  tree  in 
Hunding's  house  on  purpose  for  Siegmund  and 
then  led  him  there  to  get  it  and  find  Sieglinde. 
Hence,  when  Wotan  tells  Brtinnhilde  the  whole 
story  of  the  theft  of  the  Rhinegold,  the  en- 
mity   of    Alberich,    and    the    events    preceding 


22  " DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

"  Die  Walkiire,"  he  concludes  with  these  hope« 
less  words : 


O  stress  of  the  gods  ! 

O  shamefullest  need  ! 

In  loathing  seeing 

Always  myself 
In  all  whatsoever  I  work  ! 
But  the  other,  for  whom  I  search, 
The  other  I  never  shall  see. 
Himself  must  the  fearless  one  fashion, 
Since  I  none  but  serfs  can  knead. 


Briinnhilde  asks  whether  Siegmund  is  not  a 
free  agent.  Wotan  answers  that  he  himself 
dwelt  in  the  forest  with  Siegmund  and  fanned 
the  flames  in  his  breast.     He  says  : 

I  fondly  fancied 
Myself  to  befool, 
Yet  how  lightly  Fricka 
Found  out  the  lie  ! 
To  its  farthest  depths 
She  fathomed  the  shame, 
And  her  will  to  work  I  was  forced. 

Briinnhilde  asks  if  he  will  remove  his  protec- 
tion from  Siegmund,  and  then  Wotan  answers 
with  the  key-note  speech  of  the  whole  tragedy. 


THE   STORY.  2$ 

He  declares  in  despair  that  he  cannot  escape 
the  consequences  of  his  crime ;  his  efforts  are 
vain  ;  he  abandons  the  work,  and  awaits  but  the 
end.  For  that  Alberich  will  provide.  This 
attitude  of  Wotan  explains  the  majestic  dignity 
of  his  suffering  while  inflicting  the  punishment 
on  the  disobedient  Valkyr.  She  has  striven  to 
save  Siegmund,  thereby  making  a  movement 
toward  continuing  the  existence  of  Wotan's 
wrong-doing  and  toward  fixing  more  firmly  upon 
him  and  all  the  other  gods  the  inevitable  retri- 
bution that  must  follow.  Her  punishment  is 
not  the  outcome  of  a  father's  wrath  against  a 
disobedient  child,  but  is  the  result  of  Wotan's 
surrender  to  the  demands  of  that  eternal  jus- 
tice of  which  he  and  all  the  other  gods  are  sub- 
jects. 

From  this  time  on  to  the  end  of  the  tragedy, 
Wotan  stands  aside  and  allows  the  human  forces 
to  have  free  sway.  Siegfried  knows  no  Wotan  ; 
he  knows  no  god's  will.  He  is  a  free  agent. 
Wotan  is  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
watching  the  progress  of  events  with  which  he 
is  powerless  to  interfere.  Alone  and  as  a  free 
agent,  at  the  suggestion  of  Wotan's  enemy,  Mime, 
Siegfried  slays  Fafner.  Then  with  the  knowl- 
edge imparted  by  the  bird,  he  obtains  the  Rhine- 
gold,  seeks  and  wins  Brunnhilde.      Of  his  free 


24  " DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

will  he   fulfils  Wotan's  prophecy  made  in  the 
closing  scene  of  "Die  Walkure  :" 

He  who  the  point 
Of  my  spear  shall  fear 
Shall  pass  not  the  wall  of  fire. 

Oh,  the  ineffable  beauty  of  "  Siegfried ! " 
This  is  the  immortal  epic  of  the  world's  youth, 
the  song  of  spring-time,  young  manhood,  love, 
and  unspeakable  bliss.  It  is  this  marvellous 
fairy  tale  that  the  opponents  of  Wagner  have 
chosen  to  ridicule,  because  of  its  talking  bird 
and  its  cumbersome  dragon.  Oh,  the  folly  of 
prejudice ! 

Behold  young  Siegfried  grown  to  manhood 
under  the  care  of  Mime,  the  brother  of  Al- 
berich.  The  dwarf  is  aiming  at  the  recovery 
of  the  ring,  the  tarn  helm,  and  the  gold,  which 
Fafner,  now  become  "  the  worst  of  all  worms,'' 
is  guarding  in  a  cave  in  the  forest.  Mime  pro- 
poses to  have  Siegfried  slay  the  dragon,  after 
which  he  himself  will  slay  "  Siegfried."  But 
the  poor  dwarf  cannot  weld  the  sword  of  Sieg- 
mund,  which  is  necessary  to  his  plan.  Sieg- 
fried arrives,  and  after  some  by-play,  examines 
the  sword  which  Mime  has  been  forging,  and 
rails  at  its  weakness.  Mime  endeavors  to  calm 
him.       Siegfried    expresses    his   dislike   of    the 


THE  STORY.  2$ 

dwarf,  and  inquires  who  were  his  father  and 
mother.  Mime  declares  that  he  himself  was 
both.  Siegfried  cannot  be  deceived  thus,  and 
finally  wrings  the  truth  from  Mime,  who  pro- 
duces the  pieces  of  Siegmund's  sword  in  sup- 
port of  his  statement.  Siegfried  orders  him  to 
weld  the  pieces,  and  then  rushes  out  into  the 
forest.  Wotan  disguised  as  the  Wanderer 
comes  to  the  cave  and  enters  into  a  long  dis- 
cussion with  Mime.  The  outcome  of  it  all  is 
that  Wotan  prophesies  that  the  sword  must  be 
welded  by  a  hero  who  knows  not  fear.  Wotan 
disappears,  leaving  Mime  in  despair.  Siegfried 
returns  and  finds  Mime  hidden  under  the  anvil 
in  abject  terror,  caused  by  his  own  fancies. 
Siegfried  asks  him  if  he  has  welded  the  sword, 
but  Mime  tells  him  he  has  one  thing  yet  to 
learn,  namely,  fear.  Mime  tries  to  teach  him 
what  fear  is,  and  seeks  to  frighten  him  by  de- 
scribing the  dragon  Fafner.  Siegfried,  instead 
of  being  alarmed,  is  eager  to  meet  his  foe,  and 
demands  the  sword.  Mime  confesses  that  he 
cannot  weld  it,  whereupon  Siegfried  proceeds 
to  do  the  work  himself.  Then  follows  the 
great  scene  of  the  welding  of  the  sword.  When 
the  sword  is  finished,  Siegfried,  with  one 
mighty  blow,  cleaves  the  anvil,  and,  as  the 
orchestra  bursts  into   a  prestissimo  of  tremen- 


26  "  DER  RING   DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

dous  energy,  stands  brandishing  the  sword  and 
shouting  while  the  curtain  falls. 

The  second  act  reveals  Alberich,  the  Nibel- 
ung,  in  the  depths  of  the  forest  gloom  near 
Fafner's  cave,  awaiting  an  opportunity  to  seize 
the  treasure.  Malice  and  greed  are  breathed 
through  the  music.  The  wind  rushes  through 
the  forest  and  a  dim  light  grows.  Wotan 
enters.  Alberich  and  Wotan  express  their 
hatred  of  one  another,  the  music  graphically 
illustrating  the  dignity  of  the  one  and  the  mal- 
ice of  the  other.  Wotan  departs ;  Alberich 
conceals  himself,  and  Siegfried  enters  with 
Mime.  The  latter  hopes  that  both  the  dragon 
and  the  hero  will  die  in  the  impending  combat 
and  departs  saying  so. 

Siegfried,  alone  in  the  forest,  lies  down  under 
a  tree.  Then  comes  the  "  Waldweben" — forest 
weaving — the  voices  of  the  woods,  often  played 
in  concert.  It  is  one  of  the  most  masterly 
tone-pictures  in  existence.  Siegfried  wonders 
who  his  mother  was  and  how  she  looked.  He 
tries  vainly  by  means  of  a  reed  flute  to  imitate 
the  voices  of  the  birds  and  so  understand  them. 
Failing  in  this  he  winds  a  blast  upon  his  horn, 
which  brings  the  dragon,  Fafner,  from  his 
lair.  Siegfried  fears  him  not,  but  boldly  at- 
tacks and  slays   him.     The  blood  spurts    upon 


THE   STORY.  27 

the  hero's  hand  and  he  puts  it  to  his  lips.  At 
once  he  can  understand  the  language  of  the 
birds.  A  bird  tells  him  to  get  the  treasure 
from  the  cave.  He  enters  it.  Alberich  and 
Mime  appear.  The  ineffably  lovely  music  be- 
comes harsh  and  scolding.  The  dwarfs  quarrel 
and  separate  as  Siegfried  returns  with  the  ring 
and  tarn  helmet.  Mime  comes  back  and  tries 
to  induce  Siegfried  to  take  poison  which  he 
has  prepared,  but  the  bird  warns  him,  and, 
moreover,  Mime  unconsciously  betrays  himself. 
Siegfried  slays  him.  Again  the  hero  lies  under 
the  tree  and  the  voices  of  the  forest  speak  to 
him.  The  bird  tells  him  of  Briinnhilde  and 
leads  him  away  in  search  of  her  as  the  curtain 
falls. 

The  third  act  opens  with  portentous  music. 
The  awful  strife  between  the  might  of  youth 
and  love  and  the  powers  of  darkness  is  ap- 
proaching its  climax.  The  rising  of  the  curtain 
discloses  a  rocky  mountain.  The  shadows  of 
night  are  on  the  hills,  and  the  elements  are  at 
war.  Wotan  appears  and  invokes  the  goddess 
Erda — old  Mother-Earth.  From  her  he  seeks 
to  know  how  to  save  the  gods  from  destruction. 
She  cannot  aid  him,  and,  weary  of  increasing 
strife,  he  renounces  the  empire  of  the  world. 
Siegfried  enters  and  Wotan  blocks  his  wav  with 


28  " DER  RING  DES  NIB E LUNG 'EN." 

his  spear.  With  a  single  blow  Siegfried  shatters 
the  spear  of  the  ruler  of  the  gods,  and  destroys 
therewith  the  old  order  of  things.  Crying,  "  In 
vain  !  I  cannot  prevent  thee,"  Wotan  flies. 
An  ominous  glow  grows  upon  the  scene.  The 
mystic  powers  of  nature  array  themselves 
against  the  hero's  progress.  The  strength  of 
matter  girds  itself  to  meet  the  might  of  spirit. 
Fire  and  smoke  roll  down  the  mountain  till  the 
very  world  seems  ablaze  at  Siegfried's  feet. 
But  still  that  giant  heart  knows  no  fear.  Thun- 
dering notes  of  defiance  from  his  horn,  he 
plunges  into  the  flames  and  disappears ;  but 
the  echoing  notes  of  the  horn  return  to  say  that 
he  is  not  vanquished. 

The  storm  of  fire  sinks.  The  glory  of  the 
dawn  surrounds  the  hills  and  the  rising  mists 
disclose  the  noble  form  of  the  Valkyr  asleep  be- 
neath her  shield.  Siegfried  approaches.  The 
tremendous  moment  is  at  hand.  He  stoops 
and  cuts  the  fastenings  of  her  armor,  which, 
falling  aside,  reveals,  wrapped  in  the  softest 
drapery,  a  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned.  The 
soul  of  the  invincible  youth  is  transformed  into 
the  spirit  of  the  captive,  but  conquering  man. 
"  A  touch — a  kiss — the  charm  is  snapped/ 
Briinnhildc  awakes  to  salute  the  earth,  the  sun, 
the  gods,  and  to  fall  upon  the  breast  of  her  hero- 


THE  STORY.  2g 

lover,  while  their  voices  mingle  in  the  passion- 
ate strains  of  fierce,  overmastering  love.  The 
manhood  of  Siegfried  and  the  womanhood  of 
Brtinnhilde  are  accomplished.  The  perfect  race 
is  come  to  rule  the  world.  The  old  gods  are 
to  die  and  be  forgotten. 

The  final  tragedy  opens  with  a  scene  in  which 
the  "  dark  fates  weave  the  web  of  life  and 
death."  The  Norns,  the  Fates  of  northern 
mythology,  wind  a  rope  of  sand  and  foretell  the 
downfall  of  the  gods.  This  scene  is  frequently 
omitted  in  the  performances  of  the  work.  Dra- 
matically it  is  ineffective,  though  its  music  is 
rich.  Siegfried  and  Brunnhilde,  who  have  been 
dwelling  together  in  the  Valkyr's  cave,  come 
out,  and  the  woman  sends  her  hero  forth  in 
search  of  new  adventures.  Just  why  she  should 
do  so  I  have  never  quite  understood.  I  am  told 
by  superior  minds  that  it  is  done  in  order  that 
he  may  win  a  name  worthy  of  a  Valkyr's 
reverence  ;  but  when  he  arrives  at  the  Castle  of 
the  Gibichungs  on  the  Rhine,  whither  he  at 
once  goes,  he  is  already  known  there  as  a  most 
tremendous  hero,  though  no  one  except  Hagen, 
son  of  Alberich  and  vassal  of  King  Gunther,  is 
acquainted  with  the  history  of  his  life.  One 
must  recall  the  fact  that  Siegfried  is  the  great 
heroic  figure  of  mediaeval  German  lore  in  order 


30  " DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

to  understand  the  honor  he  at  once  receives 
from  the  retainers  of  Gunther.  Hagen  has 
proposed  to  Gunther  that  when  Siegfried  ar- 
rives, Gutrune,  the  king's  sister  (a  charming  and 
much-wronged  girl,  by  the  way),  shall  give  him 
one  of  those  magic  drinks  which  abound  in 
opera,  and  cause  him  to  fall  in  love  with  her. 
Then  Gunther  is  to  have  Briinnhilde  as  his 
queen.  Gutrune  falls  desperately  in  love  with 
Siegfried  the  minute  she  sees  him  and  adminis- 
ters the  potion  willingly.  Siegfried  is  won  and 
agrees  to  go  through  the  fire  and  get  Briinnhilde, 
whom  he  as  once  forgets,  for  Gunther,  with 
whom  he  swears  an  oath  of  brotherhood.  Sieg- 
fried puts  on  the  tarn  helm  and  assumes  the 
likeness  of  Gunther.  He  goes  to  Briinnhilde, 
tears  from  her  finger  the  ring  of  Rhinegold 
which  in  his  own  person  he  had  given  her,  and 
proclaims  her  Gunther's  bride. 

In  the  second  act  Siegfried,  Gunther,  and 
Briinnhilde  arrive  at  Castle  Gibichung.  As  soon 
as  Briinnhilde  sees  Siegfried  in  his  proper  form 
with  the  ring  on  his  finger,  she  proclaims  to  the 
assembly  that  she  has  been  betrayed  by  him. 
Siegfried,  still  under  the  potion's  influence, 
swears  he  does  not  know  her.  She  swears  he 
is  the  man  who  penetrated  to  her  rocky  abode. 
Siegfried  says  that  she  is  crazy,  which  assertion 


THE  STORY.  3 1 

temporarily  allays  suspicion,  and  the  hero  goes 
on  with  the  wedding  festivities  attending  his 
union  with  Gutrune.  Gunther,  Briinnhilde,  and 
Hagen  remain  and  decide,  on  Hagen's  sugges- 
tion, that  for  his  treachery  Siegfried  must  die. 
Briinnhilde  reveals  the  fact  that  she  did  not 
make  Siegfried's  back  invulnerable,  knowing 
that  he  would  never  turn  it  on  a  foe. 

In  the  third  act  Siegfried  is  hunting  on  the 
banks  of  the  Rhine.  The  Rhine  maidens  ap- 
pear and  try  to  get  the  ring  from  him.  He 
keeps  it,  and  they  depart  foretelling  his  impend- 
ing doom.  Hagen,  Gunther,  and  the  vassals 
appear.  To  cheer,  the  gloomy  Gunther,  Sieg- 
fried tells  the  story  of  his  youth.  He  cannot 
quite  recall  his  meeting  with  Briinnhilde,  and 
here  Hagen,  whose  whole  object  is  to  get  the 
ring,  the  tarn  helm,  and  the  gold  once  more  into 
Nibelung  hands,  steps  in  with  another  drink, 
which  makes  the  hero  remember.  For  the  first 
time  Gunther  sees  the  extent  of  the  treachery. 
Siegfried  at  an  opportune  moment  in  his  story 
is  stabbed  in  the  back  with  a  spear  by  Hagen, 
and  dies  breathing  the  name  of  Briinnhilde. 
The  vassals  take  up  the  body  and  in  stricken 
silence  bear  it  away  over  the  moonlit  hills  to 
Gibichung. 

Arriving   there  Gunther  and   Hagen  quarrel 


32  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBEIL'NGEN." 

over  the  possession  of  the  ring,  and  the  former 
is  killed.  Briinnhilde  learns  the  plot  of  which 
she  and  Siegfried  were  the  victims.  She  causes 
his  body  to  be  placed  on  a  funeral  pyre.  She 
proclaims  his  greatness,  announces  the  downfall 
of  the  gods,  and  hurls  herself  into  the  flames 
with  the  corpse.  The  Rhine  rises,  and  the  fatal 
ring  is  engulfed  by  the  waters  and  thus  restored 
to  the  Rhine  maidens.  Hagen  rushes  into  the 
water  after  it  and  is  drowned.  The  flames  of  the 
funeral  pyre  ascend  to  the  skies  and  fire  Wal- 
halla.  Wotan  and  the  gods  are  destroyed,  and 
the  great  tragedy  is  ended. 

It  is  reserved  for  Briinnhilde,  who  knows  the 
dread  significance  of  the  events  of  her  time,  to 
act  the  final  and  crowning  scene  in  the  drama  of 
deeds  which  Wotan  had  begun  but  was  powerless 
to  finish.  She  it  is  who  puts  the  torch  to  the 
pyre  and  fires  Walhalla.  The  reign  of  the  gods 
ends,  and  henceforward  there  is  a  new  order  of 
things.  The  ring  goes  back  to  its  rightful 
owners  and  thus  is  restitution  made.  But 
Wotan  does  not  escape  retribution.  He  is  the 
victim  of  fate  and  carries  down  the  gods  with 
him  in  one  general  fall.  Thus  does  this  tre- 
mendous tragedy  work  itself  out,  revealing  to 
us  as  its  hero  a  god  who  forgot  the  essential 
nature  of  his  godhood,  transgressed  the  law  by 


THE   STORY.  33 

which   he  was,  and   fell    a  victim  to  outraged 
justice. 

There  are  those  who  seek  to  ridicule  this 
tragedy  because  it  contains  supernatural  impos- 
sibilities, some  of  which  belong  to  the  fairy 
tales  of  our  childhood.  The  magic  ring  and 
tarn  helm,  the  lumbering  dragon,  the  bird  that 
sings  German  words,  the  marvellous  drinks  of 
Hagen — these  are  things  over  which  Wagner's 
opponents  make  merry,  and  which  they  call 
upon  his  friends  to  defend.  I  shall  not  defend 
them.  I  agree  with  the  anti-Wagnerites.  They 
are  as  puerile  as  the  family  relations  in  the 
tetralogy  are  repulsive.  I  grant  all  these  things. 
But  is  there  nothing  left  ?  Is  there  nothing 
under  the  surface  of  the  mighty  tragedy  on 
which  these  things  float  like  fallen  leaves  upon 
an  ocean  ? 


II. — The  Philosophy  and  the  Humanity. 

I  DO  not  propose  to  enter  into  an  extended 
discussion  of  the  merits  of  the  tragedy.  I  shall 
simply  point  out  some  features  of  its  strength, 
and  perchance  touch  upon  certain  defects  which 
are  worthy  of  consideration. 

In  "Das  Rheingold"  we  make  our  first  ac- 
quaintance with  Wagner's  mythological  adapta- 
tions in  their  primeval  condition.  The  gods 
of  the  Norse  mythology  were  not  immortal,  but 
gifted  with  extraordinary  length  of  days.  Their 
fellow-creatures  in  the  world  were  inferior  be- 
ings, always  at  war  with  them,  but  equally 
gifted  in  respect  to  longevity.  The  true  myth 
is  a  deification  of  a  human  type.  Jupiter  and 
Hercules,  Wotan  and  Thor,  Isis  and  Osiris  are 
human  types  idealized  and  exalted  into  godhood. 
They  are  heroic  in  person,  essential  in  emotion, 
elementary  in  action.  Civilization  tends  to  av- 
erage men.  A  common  culture  imposed  upon 
a  body  of  people  reduces  elementary  inequal- 
ities to  a  general   level,  and   tends   to  the  con- 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  AND   THE  HUMANITY.      35 

cealment  of  individual  characteristics  because  it 
represses  the  display  of  them.  Wagner  has 
shown  a  fine  perception  of  these  truths  in  his 
Nibelungen  works.  The  artificiality  of  civiliza- 
tion is  wholly  absent.  The  foul  is  foul  and  the 
fair  is  fair.  The  springs  of  action  are  laid  bare. 
Every  personage  is  as  transparent  as  a  child. 
The  substructure  of  humanity  is  unearthed.  In 
Wotan  we  have  a  large  mind  dominated  by  the 
lust  of  power;  in  Alberich  a  small  one.  Loge 
is  the  personification  of  primal  cunning  and 
treachery.  And  so  it  is  with  each  of  the  other 
personages.  Every  one  is  a  characterization, 
and  their  deeds  are  in  accord  with  their  hearts. 

The  atmosphere  of  unreality  which  surrounds 
these  personages  does  not  mar  their  poetic 
value,  any  more  than  the  supernatural  envi- 
ronment of  Milton's  arch  fiend  mars  his.  As 
Lucifer  impresses  himself  upon  us  as  an  ideal- 
ized type  and  the  central  figure  of  the  "Paradise 
Lost,"  so  does  Loge  remain  in  our  minds  as  the 
weaver  of  the  plot  of  the  tetralogy.  He  stands 
forth  conspicuously  as  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing characters  in  dramatic  fiction,  and  beyond 
a  question  one  of  the  few  fine  character  stud- 
ies in  opera.  Around  him  the  events  of  the 
story  of  "  Das  Rheingold,"  the  germ  of  the 
whole  tragedy,  revolve  with  a  consistent  coher- 


36  "  DER  RING  DES  NIB  E  LUNG  EN.1' 

ency  that  is  as  admirable  as  it  is  unsurpassed  in 
operatic  literature.  His  final  words,  while  they 
assist  in  destroying  the  completeness  of  "  Das 
Rheingold  "  as  a  play,  are  eminently  fitting  as 
the  conclusion  in  the  first  act  of  a  drama  whose 
chief  events  are  yet  to  come,  and  whose  founda- 
tion he  has  laid. 

But  in  all  probability  there  is  no  feature  of 
Wagner's  poetry  that  will  strike  the  average 
reader  with  more  force  than  his  treatment  of 
the  passion  of  love.  "  Let  us  reconstruct  this 
world,"  says  Taine,  writing  of  Shakespeare,  "  so 
as  to  find  in  it  the  imprint  of  its  Creator.  A 
poet  does  not  copy  at  random  the  manners 
which  surround  him  ;  he  selects  from  this  vast 
material,  and  involuntarily  brings  upon  the 
stage  the  moods  of  the  heart  and  the  conduct 
which  best  suit  his  talent."  Wagner  could  not 
brook  the  shackles  of  conventionality.  The 
"  moods  of  the  heart  and  the  conduct  "  which 
best  suited  his  talent  were  not  those  of  modern 
courts  and  society.  In  his  reconstruction  of  the 
world  he  felt  that  the  limits  of  established  cus- 
toms were  too  small  for  him.  He  would  be 
hampered  by  no  religious  or  social  dogmas,  by 
no  small  corollaries  of  clothes-philosophy.  Ele- 
mental passions,  free  and  fierce  and  blazing  as 
the  first  sunlight,  were  to  be  the  tremendous 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  AND  THE  HUMANITY.      27 

moving  forces  of  his  dramas.  To  disrobe  them 
of  all  the  purple  and  fine  linen  of  convenient 
codes  and  reveal  them  in  the  heroic  and  chaste 
glory  of  their  perfect  nakedness  he  went  back 
into  the  realm  of  fable,  seized  upon  the  shadowy 
myths  and  made  them  men  and  women. 

The  love  of  Wagner's  elementary  beings  is  like 
lightning  in  its  suddenness  and  fierceness.  As 
Taine  says  of  the  lovers  of  the  Shakespearean 
drama :  "  They  cannot  but  love,  and  they 
must  love  till  death.  But  this  first  look  is  an 
ecstasy ;  and  this  sudden  approach  of  love  is  a 
transport."  Shakespeare  and  Wagner  are  alike 
in  their  treatment  of  what  we  call  love  at  first 
sight.  The  latter  exposes  his  idea  of  it  in 
"  The  Flying  Dutchman,"  in  "  Lohengrin,"  in 
"Tristan  and  Isolde;"  and  in  the  Nibelungen 
series  we  have  two  magnificent  pictures  of  it  in 
the  meeting  of  Siegmund  with  Sieglinde  and  of 
Siegfried  with  Briinnhilde.  Siegmund  lies 
fainting  upon  Hunding's  hearth.  Sieglinde 
enters,  and,  without  seeing  her,  he  cries  for 
water.  She  gives  him  drink.  Having  finished 
the  draught,  he  turns  his  head,  sees  her  face  for 
the  first  time,  and  gazes  long  upon  her.  He 
speaks  to  her : 

Cool  is  the  draught  of  thy  bountiful  cup  ; 
Vigor  returns  to  my  tottering  limbs  ; 


38  "  DER  RING  DES  MB  E  LUNG  EM." 

My  heart  is  made  strong,  and  my  eyes  grow  glad 
With  the  gladness  of  thine.     Now  speak  me  the  name 
Of  the  woman  who  lifts  me  again  to  life. 

SlEGLlNDE.     Hunding's  the  house  and  I  am  his  wife; 

Welcome  art  thou  to  rest  till  he  comes. 
SiEGMUND.    Weaponless  I  and  wounded.     I  pray  that 

I  be  not  unwelcome  to  Hunding,  thy  lord. 
Sieglinde  [anxiously].    Where  thou  art  wounded  now 
tell  me  at  once. 

She  offers  him  mead  to  drink.  He  begs  her 
to  sweeten  the  draught  with  her  own  lips. 
Then,  conscious  of  the  misfortune  that  ever  fol- 
lows him,  he  would  leave  her.  But  she  bids 
him  stay,  for  she,  too,  is  a  child  of  sorrow. 
Thus  in  a  few  moments  mutual  sympathy  and 
confidence  and  a  hunger  for  each  other's  society 
are  established  between  them.  The  stronger 
nature  draws  the  weaker  to  it  like  a  magnet. 
The  woman,  having  lulled  her  husband  to  sleep 
with  a  draught  of  herbs,  returns  to  Siegmund. 
She  tells  him  where  there  is  a  weapon  with 
which  he  can  meet  Hunding  in  battle.  Al- 
ready she  believes  in  her  soul  that  this  is  the 
hero  who  shall  draw  it  forth  from  its  oaken 
sheath  whence  none  other  could  take  it.  lie 
clasps  her  in  his  arms.  The  spring  night 
breaks  upon  them  in  all  its  glory.  The  man 
bursts  into  a  triumphant  love-song,  full  of  the 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  AND   THE  HUMANITY.      39 

vigor  of  youth,  strong  with  the  power  of  mature 
passion. 

Winter  storms  have  fled  in  the  smile  of  May, 

In  glory  of  light  arises  the  spring  ; 
Wafted  with  wind  and  wonder  along  his  way 

Through   woods   and    meadows   that   breathe   and 
sing. 

"  Nay,  'tis  true,"  says  Rosalind  ;  "  there  never 
was  anything  so  sudden  but  the  fight  of  two 
rams  and  Caesar's  thrasonical  brag  of  '  I  came,  I 
saw,  and  overcame  ; '  for  your  brother  and  my 
sister  no  sooner  met  but  they  looked,  no  sooner 
looked  but  they  loved,  no  sooner  loved  but 
they  sighed,  no  sooner  sighed  but  they  asked 
one  another  the  reason,  no  sooner  knew  the 
reason  but  they  sought  the  remedy.'' 

In  "  Siegfried  "  we  find  the  passion  of  love 
treated  again  in  a  similar  manner.  No  sooner 
does  the  young  hero  look  upon  the  sleeping 
form  of  Brunnhilde  than  he  feels  a  thrill  he 
never  felt  before.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  is  frightened,  and  he  calls  upon  his  mother. 
Then  he  summons  Brunnhilde  to  awake.  He 
kisses  her,  crying : 

Thus  drink  I  the  sweetness  of  life  from  her  lips, 
Though  drinking  I  die. 


40  "  DER  RING  DES  NI BE  LUNG  EN." 

She  awakes,  and  in  a  single  moment  is  trans- 
formed into  a  heroic,  love-absorbed  woman.  To 
him  alone,  she  says,  could  she  have  awakened. 
Her  love  had  been  a  prophecy,  and  she  had 
been  his  in  soul  before  ever  their  eyes  had 
met.  The  drama  ends  with  one  of  the  most 
tremendous  outpourings  of  human  passion  ever 
couched  in  language.  This,  indeed,  is  the 
apotheosis  of  love.  The  manhood  of  Siegfried 
and  the  womanhood  of  Briinnhilde  are  accom- 
plished. The  race  has  come  at  last  that  shall 
supersede  the  sin-stricken  gods.  Human  love 
is  henceforth  to  be  the  well  -  spring  of  ex- 
istence. It  has  been  objected  that  Wagner's 
love  is  a  mere  passion.  In  "  Die  Walkiire  " 
and  "  Tristan  "  there  is  support  for  this  objec- 
tion ;  but  in  "The  Flying  Dutchman,"  "  Tann- 
hauser,"  "  Die  Meistersinger,"  "  Siegfried,"  and 
"  Die  Gotterdammerung"  Wagner  proclaims  in 
immortal  tones  his  theory  of  life.  It  is  the 
theory  celebrated  in  Goethe's  "  Faust,"  where 
the  poet  sings,  "  The  woman-soul  ever  leadeth 
us  upward  and  on."  Even  in  those  stories 
of  Wagner's  which  are  indefensible  on  moral 
grounds  this  theory  is  to  some  extent  a  key  to 
the  personal  force  of  his  heroines.  They  may 
stagger  blindly  into  dark  ways  in  their  love, 
but  their  influence  over  man  is  always  inspiring. 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  AND   THE  HUMANITY.      41 

They  ennoble  his  manhood  and  mould  his  hero- 
ism. Wagner's  hero  is  always  greater  because 
of  his  heroine. 

Closely  related  to  the  two  great  love  episodes 
in  the  tragedy  is  the  death  of  Siegfried.  This 
incident  of  "  Die  Gotterdammerung "  is  not 
only  the  most  poetic  and  moving  thing  in  the 
whole  series  of  dramas,  but  one  of  those  most 
true  to  nature.  It  has  been  noted  to  the  poet's 
discredit  that  after  utterly  forgetting  Briinn- 
hilde  and  becoming  faithless  to  her,  Siegfried 
all  at  once  remembers  her.  Critics  who  take 
this  ground  must  be  unfamiliar  with  the  work- 
ings of  memory.  The  truth  is,  that  Wagner  has 
so  constructed  this  scene  that  it  would  have 
been  marvellous  if  Siegfried  had  not  remem- 
bered. The  poet's  well-known  fondness  for 
metaphysics  will  easily  account  for  his  skill 
here.  He  was  undoubtedly  well  acquainted 
with  the  psychology  of  the  memory  and  pre- 
pared his  drama  accordingly.  Siegfried's  sud- 
den remembrance  of  Briinnhilde  is  the  result 
of  the  operation  of  the  laws  of  association  ;  not 
of  one  law,  but  all  of  them  at  once.  Aristotle 
laid  down  three  relations  as  constituting  the 
law  of  mental  re-presentation  :  contiguity  in 
time  and  space,  resemblance,  and  contrariety. 
Modern   psychologists    have   found  other    rela- 


42  "  DER  R7ArG  DES  ArfBELL/ATGEAr." 

tions  and  ramifications  of  them  which  more 
fully  account  for  the  phenomena  of  reproduc- 
tion in  the  mind.  Contiguity  in  space  is  a 
primary  element  in  the  revival  of  mental  pict- 
ures. The  recollection  of  the  physical  appear- 
ance of  Lime-Rock  Light  recalls  the  whole  of 
Newport  harbor.  Contiguity  of  time  is  an- 
other primary  element.  As  Noah  Porter  puts 
it :  "  When  a  single  event  is  thought  of  which 
occurred  upon  some  day  of  my  life  made  mem- 
orable by  joy  or  sorrow,  that  event  suggests  the 
others  which  occurred  in  connection  with  itself 
— either  before  or  after — till  the  whole  history 
of  the  day  has  passed  in  review  before  the  eye 
of  the  mind."  The  relation  of  contrast  is  subtly 
employed  in  this  scene,  but  it  is  discernible. 
The  fact  that  the  circumstances  which  he  is  re- 
lating are  so  different  from  those  under  which 
he  claimed  the  hand  of  Gutrune,  must  have  its 
influence  on  Siegfried's  memory.  The  relation 
of  cause  and  effect  is  forcible  here.  The  whole 
history  of  his  victory  over  Fafner  and  his  sub- 
sequent understanding  of  the  language  of  the 
bird  is  a  series  of  powerful  causes  of  which  the 
effect  was  his  discovery  and  love  of  Briinnhilde. 
In  fact,  the  whole  scene  appears  to  have  been 
written  with  the  law  of  redintegration  in  view*. 
This  law  is  that  the  "  mind  tends  to  act  a^ain 


THE   PHILOSOPHY  AND   THE  HUMANITY.      43 

more  readily  in  a  manner  or  form  which  is  sim- 
ilar to  any  in  which  it  has  acted  before  in  any 
defined  exertion  of  its  energy." 

Thus  we  have,  as  already  noted,  a  powerful 
operation  of  all  the  laws  of  association.  Con- 
tiguity in  space  is  suggested  by  the  fire.  What 
was  in  this  fire  ?  The  mental  image  of  Briinn- 
hilde  is  at  once  conjured  up.  Contiguity  in  time 
is  the  property  of  the  whole  series  of  events. 
It  is  impossible  for  him  to  remember  the  do- 
ings of  that  day  without  recalling  their  climax. 
The  relations  of  contrast  and  cause  and  effect 
we  have  already  noted.  In  fact  the  events  were 
as  closely  united  as  the  facts  of  that  science 
which  Carlyle  ridicules  as  "  common-school  log- 
ic, where  the  truths  all  stand  in  a  row,  each 
holding  by  the  skirts  of  the  other."  No  draught 
of  magic  could  still  the  memory  thus  awakened. 
And  the  poet  was  here  wonderfully  aided  by 
the  musician.  Instead  of  writing  new  music  for 
the  death  of  Siegfried,  Wagner,  with  one  of  his 
mightiest  strokes  of  genius,  has  set  this  death 
scene  to  the  music  of  the  love  duet  between 
Siegfried  and  Brunnhilde,  thus  telling  us  in  the 
highest  language  of  emotion  the  feelings  that 
were  welling  up  in  the  soul  of  the  dying  hero. 
The  laws  of  association  renewed  for  him  the 
scene  and  its  heart-throbs,  and  the  orchestra  re- 


44  " DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

veals  for  us  what  is  passing  in  the  inner  man. 
The  love  of  Briinnhilde  is  once  more  the  mov- 
ing power  of  his  life,  and  triumphs  over  him  even 
in  the  hour  of  death.  In  my  early  study  of  the 
Nibelung  tragedy  it  always  seemed  to  me  that 
an  unhappy  blot  on  this  scene  was  Hagen's 
presentation  to  Siegfried  of  the  drink  with  the 
juice  of  an  herb  in  it.  If,  however,  Hagen's 
words  are  to  be  taken  literally,  it  is  not  a  blot. 
He  says — I  quote  the  Metropolitan  Opera- 
House  libretto — 

Drink  first,  hero, 

From  my  horn  : 
I  mingled  an  herb  with  the  draught 
To  awaken  and  hold  thy  remembrance, 
That  past  things  may  be  apparent. 

From  this  speech  it  is  plain  that  Wagner 
wishes  us  to  understand  that  Siegfried's  power  of 
recalling  his  relations  with  Briinnhilde  had  been 
literally  put  to  sleep  by  Gutrune's  potion,  and 
that  Hagen  is  now  administering  a  drink  to  coun- 
teract the  effect  of  the  former  and  "  awaken  " 
the  reproductive  power  of  the  man's  mind.  To 
be  sure,  this  is  a  nice  point  ;  for  we  may  read- 
ily wonder  why  Gutrune's  drink  did  not  para- 
lyze the  man's  entire  memory,  and  not  simply 
that    part    of  it    relating   to   his   Valkyr   bride, 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  AND   THE  HUMANITY.      45 

and  we  may  ask  why  he  could  not  recall  her  if 
he  was  able  to  recall  the  events  leading  up  to  her. 
But  if  we  accept  the  fable  of  a  magic  drink  at 
all,  we  have  no  right  to  put  fanciful  limitations 
to  its  powers.  It  is  just  as  reasonable  to  believe 
in  a  potion  that  could  suspend  part  of  a  man's 
memory  as  one  that  could  put  the  whole  of 
it  to  sleep.  So  we  must  regard  Hagen's  drink 
as  the  antidote  to  Gutrune's.  It  is  adminis- 
tered simply  to  remove  the  paralysis  of  en- 
chantment from  the  man's  mind,  after  which 
removal  his  memory  works  according  to  the 
laws  of  psychology. 

To  ask,  however,  what  had  become  of  Sieg- 
fried's memory  of  Briinnhilde  during  the  time 
of  his  unholy  infatuation  for  Gutrune  is  to  dis- 
play ignorance  of  a  well-known  problem  of  psy- 
chology. Where  an  idea  has  its  existence  when 
absent  from  a  mind  which  subsequently  recalls 
it,  is  a  question  which  the  experts  have  not  an- 
swered. Dr.  McCosh,  writing  in  his  "  Scottish 
Philosophy"  of  Sir  William  Hamilton,  says: 
"  What  is  the  state  of  an  idea  when  not  fall- 
ing at  the  time  under  consciousness  ?  This  is 
a  question  which  has  often  been  put.  Thus, 
having  seen  the  Crystal  Palace  of  185 1,  the 
question  is  put,  What  place  has  that  idea  in  my 
mind  when  I  am  not  precisely  thinking  about 


46  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

that  object  ?  We  must,  of  course,  answer  that 
the  idea  can  have  no  existence  as  an  idea  when 
not  before  the  consciousness.  Still  it  must  have 
some  sort  of  existence.  There  exists  in  the 
mind  a  power  to  reproduce  it  according  to  the 
laws  of  association."  And  on  this  recondite 
point  that  is  as  far  as  the  philosophers  have  been 
able  to  go. 

It  would  be  easy  to  select  other  episodes  in 
these  dramas  as  evidences  of  the  author's  poetic 
power.  But  it  is  unnecessary.  Looking  upon 
them  as  a  whole,  and  comparing  them  with  the 
original  Scandinavian  legends  from  which  they 
were  taken  by  the  minnesingers,  we  are  aston- 
ished at  the  manner  in  which  Wagner  has  mod- 
ified them.  According  to  the  minnesingers 
young  Siegfried  had  a  cloak,  the  gift  of  Alberich, 
which  made  him  invisible.  In  Wagner's  hands 
this  becomes  the  tarn  helmet,  made  of  the 
Rhine  gold.  It  is  a  potent  factor  in  the  action 
of  the  tetralogy,  and  Siegfried  wrests  it  from 
Fafncr  with  his  sire's  weapon,  thus  fulfilling  a 
part  of  his  destiny.  Again,  the  minnesingers 
called  Siegfried's  sword  Balmung,  and  according 
to  them  it  was  forged  for  him  by  Wieland,  the 
Vulcan  of  the  Teutonic  gods.  With  Wagner 
this  sword  becomes,  not  the  giant  toy  of  a  fairy 
tale,  but  a  tremendous  instrument  in  the  hands 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  AND   THE  HUMANITY.      47 

of  fate.  It  is  the  sword  of  the  hero's  father  and 
the  gift  of  VVotan  himself.  It  is  a  most  impor- 
tant part  of  Wotan's  plans  that  the  broken 
sword  shall  be  welded  anew  and  wielded  by  a 
hero  who  has  the  unmixed  blood  of  the  Vol- 
sungs,  and  who  knows  no  fear.  With  it  he 
brings  down  the  kingdom  of  the  gods  at  a  single 
blow  and  carves  his  way  to  the  consummation 
of  human  life. 

With  Odin  or  Wotan,  at  Walhalla  in  Asgard, 
dwelt  the  Valkyrior,  or  choosers  of  the  slain. 
These  Wotan  sent  forth  to  the  fields  of  battle  to 
select  those  who  should  fall  and  lead  them  to 
Walhalla.  These  sisters  of  war,  as  they  were 
sometimes  called,  watched  over  their  warriors, 
and  sometimes  listened  to  their  wooing.  Led 
by  Skulda,  the  youngest  of  the  Fates,  they 
whirled  through  the  dust  and  thunder  of  battle, 
foremost  in  the  fight,  with  flaming  swords  and 
an  awful  accompaniment  of  meteors  and  light- 
ning. Balder,  the  second  son  of  Wotan,  was  the 
fairest  of  the  gods,  and  his  death  is  the  chief 
event  in  Scandinavian  mythology.  It  was  fore- 
ordained and  prophetic  of  the  final  dissolution 
of  the  gods.  The  story  of  Sigurd  and  the  Ni- 
flunga  is  a  separate  epic  in  the  elder  Edda. 
Wagner  has  made  the  heroine  of  this  tale  and 
the  chief  of  the  Valkyries  one  and  the  same  per- 


48  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

son — a  pure  and  loving  woman  of  god-like  soul 
and  of  celestial  origin.  Where  did  he  get  the 
material  for  her?  Not  from  the  Nibelungen 
Lied  of  the  minnesingers,  for  their  Briinnhilde 
is  simply  the  famed  Queen  of  Isenland  —  a  wo- 
man of  matchless  courage  and  strength,  every 
suitor  for  whose  hand  must  enter  three  contests 
with  her,  and  if  vanquished  suffer  a  cruel  death. 
No,  this  woman — outlined  in  the  Edda — is  made 
flesh  and  blood  for  us  by  Wagner.  Siegfried 
and  Balder  he  has  moulded  into  one,  and  pro- 
duced for  us  a  personage  more  real  than  either 
of  the  originals. 

In  short,  a  reading  of  the  stories  of  the  Scan- 
dinavian bards  and  those  of  the  German  min- 
strels shows  conclusively  that  the  humanity  of 
Wagner's  people  is  his  own.  The  northern 
Scalds  created  tremendous  myths.  The  spirit 
of  their  poems  is  colossal.  Passions  and  sweet- 
ness stood  side  by  side,  and  were  delineated  with 
master-strokes.  Lofty  sentiment  and  heroic 
deed  were  darkened  by  unspeakable  crime  and 
black  tragedy.  The  German  bards  denuded 
these  old  poems  of  their  glory  and  made  their 
personages  small.  The  heroes  and  heroines  of 
the  Sagas  were  enormous  unrealities ;  those 
of  the  Nicbelungen  Lied  were  almost  preten- 
tious  nonentities.     Wagner  seized  upon   every 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  AND   THE  HUMANITY.      49 

trait  of  character  and  every  incident  that  was 
most  human,  and  made  masterly  use  of  it.  It 
is  the  ease  with  which  we  recognize  in  the  people 
of  "  Der  Ring  des  Nibelungen  "  primeval  hu- 
man types  that  makes  us  receptive  of  their  influ- 
ence and  movable  by  their  greatness. 
4 


III. — Some  Objections  to  Leit-Motiven. 

After  several  years  of  honest  study  of  the 
scores  of  Wagner's  works,  and  after  repeated 
hearings  of  performances  noble  in  spirit  and  ex- 
ecution, the  writer  is  convinced  that  the  most 
popular  objection  to  the  "music  of  the  future" 
is  the  tremendous  demands  it  makes  on  the  in- 
telligence. The  great  public  does  not  like  to 
think,  especially  about  anything  in  the  form  of 
a  drama.  It  is  an  old  story  that  the  opera  has 
been  regarded  as  a  form  of  fashionable  amuse- 
ment, but  that  condition  can  hardly  be  said  to 
exist  now.  That  view  of  the  opera  is  held  by  a 
minority.  Even  among  the  persons  who  figure 
as  members  of  "  society  "  there  are  those  who 
take  a  thoughtful  interest  in  the  performance  of 
a  Wagner-music  drama.  But  they,  like  others, 
are  discouraged  by  the  discovery  that  thought- 
ful interest  is  not  sufficient  to  enable  them  to 
arrive  at  an  intelligent  appreciation  of  these 
master-works  of  our  time.  They  learn  speedily 
that  these  music-dramas  require  deep  and  con- 


SOME    OBJECTIONS  TO  LEIT-MOTIVEN.       5 1 

tinuous  study.  In  fact,  outside  of  the  fields  of 
politics  and  sociology,  the  lyric  creations  of 
Richard  Wagner  and  the  philosophy  of  Herbert 
Spencer  offer  the  most  considerable  problems  in 
the  intellectual  life  of  our  period.  No  subject  in 
the  arts  of  painting,  sculpture,  or  pure  literature 
has  arisen  which  presents  so  many  serious  artis- 
tic questions  as  these  music-dramas.  They  are 
questions  which  concern  not  only  music,  but 
which  reach  out  into  the  general  constitution  of 
that  abstract  entity  known  as  art,  for  as  surely 
as  certain  qualities  are  common  to  all  the  fine 
arts,  so  surely  does  anything  which  touches  the 
fundamental  principles  of  one  branch  reach  those 
of  another.  It  is  not  a  settled  fact  that  Wagner's 
reforms  have  disturbed  the  general  laws  of  art 
upon  which  music  rests,  but  they  are  accused  of 
having  done  so,  and  hence  the  scope  of  the  dis- 
cussion. 

The  leit-motif  system,  which  is  the  musical 
life-blood  of  the  fully-developed  Wagner-music 
drama,  appears  to  be  the  root  of  all  the  evil, 
for  it  is  this  which  makes  the  demands  upon 
public  thought,  and  it  is  this  which  is  charged 
with  having  transformed  the  operatic  score  into 
symphony  with  declamatory  and  pantomimic  ac- 
companiment. That  these  charges  seem  to  be 
well  founded  when  one  first  witnesses  the  per- 


52  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBEZC/NGEN." 

formance  of  a  later  Wagner  drama  is  hard  to 
deny;  and  that  the  leit-motif  system  is  not 
without  grave  defects  must  be  admitted  by 
every  critic  who  is  not  committed  to  special 
pleading  of  the  Wagner  cause.  It  is  a  pity  that 
anyone  in  the  position  of  critic  has  ever  as- 
sumed this  erroneous  attitude,  though  it  is  easily 
explicable  on  the  ground  that,  in  the  face  of  ig- 
norant and  blatant  opposition,  the  minor  weak- 
nesses of  Wagner's  works  had  to  be  ignored  in 
order  that  their  stupendous  excellences  might  be 
preserved  for  the  good  of  art. 

The  charge  that  the  fully-developed  Bayreuth 
music-drama  is  an  attempt  to  subsitute  sym- 
phony for  opera  is  so  foolish  that  it  may  be  dis- 
missed with  few  words.  That  certain  themes 
are  repeated  and  sometimes  subjected  to  signifi- 
cant alterations  of  rhythm  and  harmony,  need 
not  be  denied.  This  is  the  only  resemblance  of 
a  Wagner  score  to  a  symphony.  The  working 
out  of  thematic  material  in  the  free  fantasia  of  a 
symphony  is  so  different  in  form  and  spirit  from 
the  development  to  which  Wagner  subjects  his 
Brunnhilde  and  Siegfried  motives  that  only 
a  superficial  or  prejudiced  mind  can  confound 
them.  A  far  more  important  question  is  that 
which  arises  from  the  fact  that  people  cannot 
recognize  the  design  of  the  various  leit-motiven 


SOME    OBJECTIONS   TO  LEIT-MOTIVEN.       53 

by  simply  attending  a  performance  of  one  of  the 
dramas.  The  extreme  Wagnentes  deny  that  this 
is  a  fact ;  but  one  has  only  to  consult  his  own  ex- 
perience to  realize  that  it  is.  Where  is  the  per- 
son who  has  ever  at  the  first  hearing  of  "  Rhein- 
gold  "  been  able  to  identify  and  understand  all 
the  leit-motiven  ?  But  if  they  are  not  immedi- 
ately and  unavoidably  intelligible,  are  not  these 
leit-motiven  undramatic  ?  That  is  the  serious 
question.  Is  a  playwright  wise  or  skilful  who 
demands  of  his  audience  previous  home  study  of 
the  play  about  to  be  witnessed  for  the  first  time  ? 
Would  we  tolerate  any  such  demand  if  made  by 
Bronson  Howard  or  Mr.  Pinero  ?  A  play  should 
be,  according  to  all  accepted  laws  of  dramatic 
art,  a  thing  complete  in  itself.  It  should  require 
no  explanatory  notes  in  the  programme  and  no 
previous  acquaintance  with  its  subject  matter  in 
order  to  be  "  understanded  of  the  people."  Now, 
the  only  permissible  form  of  opera  is  that  which 
can  be  received  as  a  dr ammo,  per  musica — a  play 
expressed  in  music.  If  the  opera  does  not  meet 
the  requirements  of  a  play,  it  is  undoubtedly  not 
a  perfect  art  form.  The  reforms  of  Gluck  and 
Wagner  were  designed  to  remove  the  artificial 
formulas  of  schools  which  sacrificed  truth  to 
sensuous  beauty.  But  if  Wagner  demands  of  us 
that  we  shall  study  his  libretto  phrase  by  phrase 


54  " DER  R/.VG   DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

and  his  music  measure  by  measure  at  home  be- 
fore going  to  hear  the  opera,  does  he  not  by  this 
confess  to  a  certain  grave  radical  weakness  in  his 
system  ?  Some  of  Wagner's  most  eloquent  and 
thoughtful  advocates  take  the  ground  that  his 
music  produces  high  emotional  results  in  those 
who  do  not  take  the  trouble  to  learn  the  leit-mo- 
tiven,  and  the  writer  is  prepared,  by  personal 
observation  and  experience,  to  admit  that  this  is 
true.  The  intellectual  gratification  obtained  from 
an  understanding  of  the  motiven,  say  these  ad- 
vocates, is  an  added  pleasure.  But  this  is  an 
evasion.  To  listen  to  Wagner's  music-dramas 
without  an  understanding  of  the  meaning  of  the 
leit-motiven  is  not  to  justify  his  musical  system, 
but  to  ignore  it.  It  is  an  endeavor  to  defend  the 
system  by  demonstrating  that  we  can  get  along 
without  it.  This  will  not  do.  Wagner's  leit- 
motiven  have  a  purpose,  and  we  must  recognize 
that  purpose  in  order  to  appreciate  his  art  form. 
The  true  solution  of  this  difficulty  can  be 
reached  only  by  widening  our  view  of  the  sub- 
ject so  that  the  whole  field  of  music  is  embraced 
in  it.  The  nature  of  music  refutes  the  assump- 
tion that  any  composition  is  to  be  heard  once 
and  for  all,  as  a  play  may  be.  Musical  impres- 
sions are  fleeting;  musical  thoughts  are  elusive. 
All  music  requires  repetition.     Does  the  world 


SOME    OBJECTIONS  TO  LEIT-MOTIVEN.      55 

listen  to  a  Beethoven  symphony  once  and  no 
more  ?  Not  at  all.  The  treasures  of  absolute 
music  are  revealed  only  by  frequent  perform- 
ance ;  and  the  same  tiling  is  true  of  opera. 
"Fidelio"  and  "Orfeo"  arc  not  played  once  and 
then  done  with  ;  nor  are  they  put  on  for  a  single 
run  of  one  hundred  nights.  So  we  must  view 
these  Wagner  operas  in  the  light  of  this  general 
character  of  music.  We  are  to  hear  them  again 
and  again,  and  at  last,  by  continual  comparison  of 
the  text  with  the  musical  setting,  arrive  at  a  full 
comprehension  of  the  composer's  meaning.  This 
is  the  artistic  possibility  which  Wagner  contem- 
plated. 

There  is  still,  however,  a  difficulty.  Music  can 
arouse  emotion,  and,  in  an  indefinite  way,  also 
express  it.  Where  Wagner  has  sinned  against 
the  nature  of  his  art  is  in  his  attempts  to  make 
music  express  purely  mental  processes.  There 
are  several  motiven,  like  that  of  the  "  Compact," 
whose  meaning  is  entirely  arbitrary.  Wagner 
has  ruled  that  a  certain  combination  of  tones 
shall  indicate  for  his  hearers  the  fact  that  Wotan 
is  bound  by  his  celestial  nature  to  stick  to  a  bar- 
gain. But  music  is  not  the  language  of  bar- 
gains, and  not  even  so  great  a  genius  as  Wagner 
can  make  it  so.  You  may  learn  the  intended 
meaning  of  this  motif  and  accept  it  according  to 


50  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

the  composer's  intent,  but  whenever  you  hear  it 
you  will,  if  you  have  a  fine  feeling  for  music, 
regard  it  as  a  sort  of  musical  Volapuk,  a  manu- 
factured language.  It  seems  to  the  writer,  then, 
that  the  leit  motif  system,  while  not  truly  dra- 
matic, is  truly  musical  ;  that  it  is  a  satisfactory 
working  system  for  operatic  music,  and  that  its 
only  serious  artistic  defect  arises  from  an  abuse 
of  it. 

Accepting  the  leit  motif  as  a  defensible  art 
form,  everyone  must  be  struck  with  its  especial 
fitness  for  the  musical  setting  of  "  Der  Ring  des 
Nibelungen."  It  is  in  the  tetralogy  that  the 
present  writer  finds  the  highest  justification  of 
Wagner's  system.  In  the  overwhelming  revela- 
tion of  its  adaptation  to  his  purposes  is  the 
strongest  plea  for  its  existence.  There  is  no 
question  that  many  of  those  composers  who 
have  risen  to  the  distinction  in  the  field  of  opera 
would  have  been  hampered  and  discouraged  by 
the  rigid  requirements  of  the  leit  motif  system. 
But  the  time  has  gone  by  when  the  world  be- 
lieved in  the  inviolability  of  any  special  form. 
We  do  not  demand  of  the  orchestral  composer 
to-day  that  he  shall  write  symphonies,  or  else  be 
classed  below  the  man  who  can  produce  capell- 
meister  music  in  the  established  classic  mold. 
We  have  come  to  understand  that  every  artist 


SOME    OBJECTIONS  TO  LE IT-MOTIVE TV.       $7 

has  a  right  to  invent  his  own  form.  All  that 
we  ask  is  that  the  form  shall  be  the  best  that 
can  be  designed  for  the  artist's  especial  pur- 
pose. 

The  great  drama  of  the  Nibelung's  Ring  is  a 
drama  of  development,  and  the  leit  motif  system 
is  peculiarly  suited  to  its  needs.  The  develop- 
ment of  the  Siegfried  horn  fanfare  is  one  of 
the  evidences  of  this.  It  is  used  in  the  begin- 
ning of  Wagner's  exposition  of  the  character  of 
his  hero  to  express  his  youth  and  enthusiasm. 
It  is  then  a  bright  and  reckless  challenge  in  six- 
eight  rhythm.  In  the  "  Gotterdammerung " 
the  same  melody  is  used  to  express  the  mature 
heroism  of  Siegfried.  The  alteration  to  which 
the  music  is  subjected  is  one  of  rhythm.  The 
motif  changes  from  six-eight  to  common  rhythm. 
The  effect  produced  is  one  of  those  which  are 
founded  upon  the  nature  of  music.  A  six-eight 
rhythm  is  light  and  tripping;  a  four  -  beat 
rhythm  is  firm  and  solid.  Here  is  a  case,  then, 
in  which  the  musical  development  of  the  motive 
is  thoroughly  rational,  because  the  physical  con- 
struction of  the  music  is  altered  logically.  Of 
course,  Wagner  clings  to  his  theory — the  only 
true  one — that  the  music  must  express  not  the 
physical  attributes  of  the  man,  but  his  soul. 
This  is  in  accord  with  the  composer's  philosoph- 


58  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

ical  speculations  on  the  essential  nature  of  music 
as  the  language  of  consciousness.  Viewed  from 
the  standpoint  of  the  psychologist,  music  is  cer- 
tainly the  language  of  the  concept  and  descends 
from  its  loftiest  purpose  when  it  is  made  to  ex- 
press ideas  gathered  through  sense-perception. 
No  thoughtful  person  supposes  that  Beethoven 
meant  to  photograph  a  thunderstorm  in  "  The 
Pastoral  Symphony,"  or  that  Rubinstein  tried 
in  his  "  Ocean  Symphony  "  to  paint  the  appear- 
ance of  the  sea  under  varying  conditions  of 
weather.  These  writers  sought  to  raise  in  the 
hearer's  soul  emotions  similar  to  those  raised  in 
their  own  souls  by  these  natural  phenomena. 
So  Wagner  tries  to  convey  to  the  hearer  the 
emotional  content  of  Siegfried's  soul.  And  how 
does  he  do  it  ?  By  working  out  the  Siegfried 
motive  symphonically  ?  Not  at  all ;  but  by  sub- 
jecting it  to  a  simple  rhythmical  change  which 
alters  and  develops  the  character  of  the  melo- 
dy along  the  same  lines  as  Siegfried's  character 
has  altered  and  developed — from  lightness  and 
ebulliency  to  firmness  and  solidity.  This  is  one 
of  the  artistic  achievements,  so  simple  in  itself, 
so  striking  in  its  results,  that  convince  us  that 
Wagner  was  a  genius,  and  that  for  his  purposes 
his  form  was  the  right  one. 

It   is   not   necessary  to  trace  this  process  in 


SOME    OBJECTIONS   TO   LEIT-MOTIVEN.      59 

other  motives.  The  unbiassed  student  of  Wag- 
ner will  have  no  difficulty  in  discovering  its  em- 
ployment in  the  changes  to  which  the  Rhine 
daughters'  music,  the  Walhalla,  Brunnhilde,  and 
other  motives  are  subjected.  The  changes  are 
not  always  rhythmical ;  frequently  they  are 
harmonic.  In  one  case,  as  has  been  beautiful- 
ly shown  by  Mr.  Krehbiel,  Wagner  achieves  a 
remarkable  effect  by  leaving  the  atmosphere  of 
modern  music  and  plunging  into  the  darkness 
of  the  mediaeval  style.  He  expresses  the  lack 
of  rest  in  the  wandering  of  Wotan  by  a  motive 
which  has  no  tonality,  and  which  is,  neverthe- 
less, plainly  a  development  of  the  Walhalla 
theme.  The  fitness  of  this  form  of  musical  de- 
velopment for  a  drama,  which  is  in  itself  four 
separate  plays  to  be  played  on  consecutive  days, 
is  undeniable.  It  makes  the  music  coherent  and 
connected,  just  as  the  story  is.  It  establishes  a 
system  of  cross  references  which  explains  matters 
to  the  auditor.  It  also  is  in  itself  an  argument 
against  the  dismemberment  of  the  tetralogy.  It 
forbids,  on  artistic  grounds,  not  only  the  concert 
performance  of  excerpts,  but  the  operatic  per- 
formance of  any  one  drama  of  the  series  apart 
from  the  rest.  These  things  may  be  done  on 
the  ground  of  expediency,  but  the  very  music  it- 
self cries  out  against  them  as  sins  against  art. 


DO  "  DER  RING  DES  NIB  E  LUNG  EN" 

It  is  beyond  doubt  that  music  which  is  so 
deep  in  its  emotional  significance  and  which  is 
worked  out  so  logically  in  its  development  does 
make  those  severe  demands  upon  the  intellect 
which  are  urged  against  it.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  when  the  leit  motif  system  is  attempted 
in  a  drama  where  there  is  no  development,  or  the 
development  is  illogical,  as  in  Franchetti's  "  As- 
rael,"  for  instance,  the  leit  motiven  become  mere 
labels,  as  some  prejudiced  persons  say  Wagner's 
are.  There  is  no  significant  development  to  the 
Asrael  motive,  because  Asrael  is  inconsistent. 
His  motive  is  nothing  but  a  fixed  formula,  and 
has  no  more  true  musical  meaning  than  those 
unhappy  combinations  of  sounds  which  Wagner 
tries  to  make  representative  of  purely  intellec- 
tual processes.  Franchetti's  principal  motives 
are  worked  to  death  in  "  Asrael."  He  makes  a 
ballet  out  of  one  of  them.  Every  auditor  can 
become  acquainted  with  them  in  two  hearings 
of  the  opera.  They  are  simplicity  itself.  But 
Wagner  has  some  motives  which  no  auditor  can 
learn  from  hearing.  He  must  either  study  his 
score  at  home  or  have  recourse  to  handbooks, 
only  to  find  that  Wagner  has  had  recourse  to 
arbitrary  formation,  and  that  some  of  his  leit 
motiven  are,  as  his  opponents  unjustly  say  they 
all  are,  mere  labels  without  organic  connection 


SOME    OBJECTIONS   TO  LEIT-MOTIVEN.      6 1 

with  the  text.  They  become  as  algebraic  letters, 
and  we  hear  the  composer  saying,  "  Let  x  equal 
the  Gods'  stress." 

Here,  then,  we  find  the  real  weakness  in  Wag- 
ner's musical  system.  It  is  not  that  we  must 
listen  to  his  dramas  again  and  again  with  close 
attention  to  the  text  ere  we  can  learn  the  mean- 
ing of  his  emotional  motives,  for  we  have  seen 
that  the  fundamental  claim  of  music  is  to  be 
heard  often,  but  it  is  because  he  has  at  times 
striven  to  make  music  do  what  is  not  in  its 
power,  and  has  thereby  introduced  into  his 
works  an  element  of  perplexity  to  the  most 
sympathetic  and  patient  listener. 

One  point  more  is  worth  noting  :  the  emo- 
tionally truthful  motives  in  Wagner's  works  are 
always  those  that  are  most  admirable  as  pure 
music.  It  is  not  necessary  to  explain  this  state- 
ment. Any  person  who  wishes  to  put  it  to  the 
test  should  compare  the  compact  motive  with 
the  renunciation,  for  instance,  or  the  Gods' 
stress  with  the  Love,  or,  in  "  Die  Meister- 
singer,"  the  "  Art  Brotherhood,"  as  it  is  called, 
with  the  Longing.  The  brotherhood  of  art  is 
a  delightful  subject  to  express  in  music.  Wag- 
ner's leit  motif  for  this  purpose  would  do  just 
as  well  for  the  Brotherhood  of  Locomotive  En- 
gineers, and  it  is  musically  far  inferior  to  those 


62  "  DER  RING  DES  NIB E LUNGE N." 

melodies  which  do  truthfully  convey  to  us  the 
emotions  of  Eva,  Sachs,  and  Walther.  When 
one  is  confronted  with  these  weaknesses  in  Wag- 
ner's system,  one  feels  like  adopting  the  com- 
fortable position,  before  mentioned,  of  enjoying 
the  music  without  bothering  about  the  leit  mo- 
tiven.  But  they  are  like  the  ghosts  in  "  Mac- 
beth :  "  they  will  not  down  at  one's  bidding. 


IV.— Comments  and  Commentators. 

Wagner  has  the  proud  distinction  of  being 
the  one  composer  of  our  time  who  has  given 
rise  to  controversy.  He  has  been  abused  with- 
out mercy  and  praised  without  discrimination. 
Nonsense  has  been  written  for  and  against  him. 
Some  of  his  critics  have  found  fault  with  him 
for  the  very  things  which  are  to  his  credit ;  others 
have  praised  him  for  his  errors.  Perhaps  no 
country  has  won  greater  distinction  for  its  in- 
ability to  view  Wagner  rationally  than  England. 
This  is,  doubtless,  owing  to  the  fact  that 
Wagner's  later  works  are  not  fairly  known  in 
Great  Britain.  Nevertheless,  I  cannot  refrain 
from  breaking  lances  with  two  English  com- 
mentators, one  of  whom  bearded  Wagner  in  his 
lair. 

When  a  man  sets  up  a  theory  and  undertakes 
to  make  facts  agree  with  it,  he  has  a  hard  time. 
The  inductive  method  of  reasoning  is  absolute 
in  its  tyranny,  and  always  crushes  anyone  who 
undertakes  to  pierce  its  armor.     The  only  per- 


64  " DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

son  who  has  any  hope  of  success  in  science  is  he 
who  studies  facts  first  and  formulates  his  theory 
on  the  results  obtained.  Precisely  the  same 
method  is  to  be  used  in  studying  the  works  of 
great  masters  in  art.  The  man  who  begins  by 
saying,  "  Wagner  was  not  a  great  composer,"  and 
then  goes  hunting  for  evidence  to  prove  his  state- 
ment, is  bound  to  come  to  grief.  He  should 
begin  by  studying  the  works  of  Wagner,  and 
generalizations  of  an  unimpeachable  nature  will 
come  to  him,  if  he  is  a  thinker.  As  Mr.  Krehbiel 
wisely  said  in  one  of  his  lectures,  the  only  way 
to  find  out  what  Wagner  means  is  to  go  to 
Wagner  himself — to  study  him  in  his  scores — 
and  not  to  accept  second-hand  evidence. 

Sir  Arthur  Sullivan  has  set  up  the  theory  that 
Wagner  did  not  know  how  to  make  a  libretto, 
that  he  did  not  select  the  proper  kind  of  ma- 
terial for  his  stories,  and  that  his  verse  is  dog- 
gerel. This  is  not  a  new  attack  on  the  genius  of 
Bayreuth,  but  it  is  unusual.  The  common  plan 
is  to  say  that  Wagner's  music  is  bad,  which  is  a 
hard  proposition  to  uphold.  Some  of  Wagner's 
music  is  harsh — that  is  a  safer  and  surer  assertion. 
If  Sir  Arthur  had  said  some  of  Wagner's  libret- 
to-writing is  poor,  he  would  have  taken  an  un- 
assailable ground,  for  no  one  who  carefully  reads 
the  book  of  "  The  Flying  Dutchman  "  can  fail  to 


COMMENTS  AND   COMMENTATORS.         65 

perceive  that  some  of  it  is  very  thin  stuff  indeed. 
But  that  work  was  written  when  Wagner  was 
not  yet  free  from  the  shackles  of  tradition  in 
opera  making.  However,  this  is  the  single  book 
which  Sir  Arthur  praises,  asserting  that  it  is  the 
only  one  which  could  be  successfully  acted  with- 
out the  music.  This  declaration  is  not  worth 
disputing.  It  shows  a  singular  lack  of  compre- 
hension of  Wagner's  purposes  in  aiming  at  an 
indissoluble  union  of  acting,  poetry,  music,  and 
painting  in  the  art  work  of  the  future.  If  any 
of  the  dramas  of  the  trilogy  could  be  taken  out 
and  acted  without  the  music,  it  would  simply  go 
to  show  that  the  union  was  imperfect. 

But  Sir  Arthur  does  not  like  his  material.  He 
says :  "  He  chose  mythological  and  legendary 
subjects,  which  have  always  taken  an  epic  form, 
for  the  very  good  reason  that  they  are  essentially 
epic  and  not  dramatic  in  character."  A  little 
learning  has  been  called  a  dangerous  thing.  Sir 
Arthur  must  have  a  very  little  indeed  to  hazard 
such  a  statement.  It  is  not  improbable  that  the 
composer  of  "  The  Mikado "  is  aware  that  the 
lyric  drama  of  to-day  originated  in  an  attempt 
at  the  resuscitation  of  the  ancient  Greek  drama, 
and  that  the  little  group  of  enthusiasts  who  met 
at  Bardi's  palace  in  Florence,  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  proceeded,  to  the  best 


66  "  DER  RING  DES  N/BELC/NGEN.'1 

of  their  knowledge  and  belief,  along  the  lines 
laid  down  by  the  Greek  masters.  Every  ref- 
ormation in  operatic  art  since  their  day  has  been 
an  attempt  to  escape  from  the  domination  of 
mere  vocal  accomplishment,  and  to  return  to  the 
true  basis  of  the  lyric  drama.  The  real  ground- 
work is  to  be  found  in  the  plays  of  the  great 
Greek  tragedians,  and  their  selection  of  material 
does  not  support  Sir  Arthur's  theory. 

yEschylus  is  generally  credited  with  being  the 
father  of  Greek  tragedy.  Strangely  enough,  his 
masterpiece  was  a  trilogy,  composed  of  "  Aga- 
memnon," "  The  Choephorae,"  and  the  "  Eume- 
nides,"  in  which  is  set  forth  a  crime — the  murder 
of  Agamemnon  —  and  its  consequences,  very 
much  as  Wagner  tells  the  story  of  the  theft 
of  the  Rhinegold  and  its  dread  issue.  Like 
Wagner's  work,  this  one  contains  two  plots — one 
celestial  and  the  other  terrestrial — and  mingles 
gods  and  mortals  in  the  action.  Moreover,  the 
Greek  tragedian's  work  is  wholly  concerned  with 
those  mythological  and  legendary  characters 
who,  according  to  Sir  Arthur,  are  "essentially 
epic."  Furthermore,  /Eschylus,  like  Wagner, 
used  his  dramas  not  only  for  the  embodiment  of 
a  national  legend,  but  also  for  the  propagation 
of  profound  moral  truths.  Worse  than  this, 
^Eschylus  is  believed  to  have  written  a  tetralogy 


COMMENTS  AND   COMMENTATORS.         67 

on  mythical  events,  of  which  "  The  Seven  against 
Thebes"  is  supposed  to  be  the  final  drama. 

But  yEschylus  does  not  stand  alone  as  an  op- 
ponent of  Sir  Arthur's  theory.  After  him  came 
Euripides,  his  mighty  successor,  who  has  been 
called  the  "virtual  founder  of  the  romantic 
drama."  His  method  resembles  Wagner's  more 
closely  than  that  of  ./Eschylus  did  in  this :  He 
endeavored  to  make  his  heroic  personages  more 
real,  more  like  the  men  and  women  of  every-day 
life.  And  he  helped  himself  in  a  most  liberal 
manner  to  that  mythological  and  legendary 
matter  which,  according  to  Sullivan,  is  so  truly 
epic. 

His  "  Alcestis"  differed  from  the  normal  type 
of  Greek  tragedy  in  that  it  was  not  founded  on 
one  of  the  great  legends,  but  on  one  of  the  smaller 
episodes  of  mythology.  In  the  "  Hippolytus" 
he  made  use  of  one  of  the  stories  relating  to 
Artemis,  a  genuine  out-and-out  goddess.  In 
"  Ion  "  the  hero  is  a  son  of  Creusa  and  the  god 
Apollo,  and  one  of  the  characters  is  Athena,  who 
is  also  an  important  figure  in  the  "  Suppliants." 
The  "Heracles  Mainomenos"  begins  with  the 
return  of  Heracles  from  Hades,  whither  he  had 
been  sent  to  bring  back  Cerberus.  His  "  Iphi- 
genia  in  Tauris,"  "  Iphigenia  in  Aulis,"  "Ores- 
tes," and  "  Bacchai "  all  make  use  of  mytholog- 


68  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

ical  or  legendary  material,  in  open  defiance  of  Sir 
Arthur's  pretty  theory. 

But  the  moderns  have  broken  faith  with  Sir 
Arthur  just  as  ruthlessly  as  the  ancients;  for 
when  Jacopo  Peri  wrote  the  first  operas,  he  deli- 
berately chose  such  subjects  as  "  Daphne  "  and 
"  Eurydice,"  and  Claudio  Monteverde,  the 
Wagner  of  his  time,  wrote  "  Orfeo."  And  when 
Gluck  launched  the  first  operatic  reformation  he 
purposely  selected  Euripidean  subjects,  "  Al- 
ccstis,"  "  Iphigenia  in  Aulis,"  and  "  Iphigenia  in 
Tauris,"  to  which  he  added  "  Orpheus."  It  does 
really  seem  as  if  no  one  had  any  consideration 
for  Sir  Arthur.  Even  Mozart  helped  himself  to 
the  legend  of  "  Don  Giovanni,"  Weber  to  that 
of  "  Der  Freischiitz,"  and  Gounod  to  that  of 
"  Faust,"  as  expanded  by  Goethe.  And  even 
Sir  Arthur's  own  Shakespeare  wrote  "  A  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream,"  of  which  the  material 
is  excessively  mythical. 

All  this  goes  to  show  that  if  you  desire  to  cen- 
sure a  man's  work  you  should  find  the  real  faults, 
not  set  up  a  theory  which  has  feet  of  clay. 
However,  Sir  Arthur  Sullivan  does  not  stand 
alone  in  his  folly.  Mr.  Joseph  Bennett  can  dis- 
cover more  faults  in  Wagner  than  Sir  Arthur  can, 
and  make  far  more  ridiculous  objections  to  his 
work.      In   his  "Letters  from    Bayreuth"  he  be- 


COMMENTS  AND   COMMENTATORS.         69 

wails  in  good  set  terms  Wagner's  lost  opportu- 
nities, and  is  grieved  to  the  heart  that  Verdi  did 
not  compose  "  Die  Gotterdammerung."  The 
aged  Italian  maestro  in  his  ripe  years  would  cer- 
tainly have  written  much  fine  music  for  the  story, 
but  it  is  almost  impossible  to  conceive  of  the 
German  master's  stupendous  dramatic  poem  dis- 
sociated from  his  own  vitalizing  measures.  Mr. 
Bennett's  particular  grievance  is  that  Wagner 
did  not  write  more  choruses  instead  of  permit- 
ting Gunther's  vassals  to  remain  silent  so  much 
of  the  time.  "  If  the  warriors  may  acclaim 
Gunther  and  Briinnhilde,"  he  asks,  "  why  are 
they  silent  when  Hagen  kills  Siegfried  ?  Why 
no  exclamations  as  the  hero's  body  is  received 
by  the  King's  household  ?  Above  all,  why  is 
the  stage  filled  with  a  crowd  of  dummies  during 
the  magnificent  and  moving  last  scene  ?  The 
absence  of  a  chorus  here  is  the  very  wantonness 
of  whim.  It  excites  an  annoying  sense  of  in- 
completeness, and  makes  us  cry,  even  beneath 
the  roof  of  Wagner's  theatre,  '  Oh  for  a  Verdi ! ' " 
Alas,  poor  Joseph  !  How  shamefully  Verdi 
has  betrayed  your  faith  !  The  ardent  anti-Wag- 
nerite  must  have  forgotten  all  about  "A'ida" 
when  he  wrote  these  lines.  When  Rhadames 
and  A'ida  are  dying  in  the  vault,  the  temple 
above  is  "  filled  with  a  crowd  of  dummies,"  and 


7<D  "  DE R  RING  DES  NIB E LUNG EAT." 

the  only  words  uttered  are  a  few  broken  expres- 
sions of  grief  from  the  stricken  Amneris.  Of 
course,  poor  Mr.  Bennett  could  not  have  fore- 
seen in  1876  the  dreadful  things  Verdi  was  going 
to  do  in  "Otello,"  but  it  is  a  notable  fact  that 
when  Emelia  alarms  the  household  after  Desde- 
mona's  murder,  the  members  of  the  chorus  ne- 
glect their  opportunities  quite  as  shamefully  as 
Gunther's  vassals.  It  was  not  Verdi  that  Mr. 
Bennett  had  in  his  mind,  it  was  Donizetti.  He 
would  have  cooked  up  a  duet  for  Hagen  and 
Gunther  over  Siegfried's  body,  and  would  have 
sent  the  dead  hero  back  to  the  hall  of  the  Gi- 
bichungs  to  the  strains  of  a  martial  chorus.  And 
then  what  a  mad  scene  Briinnhilde  would  have 
had  over  the  bier  !  "  Spargi  d'amaro  "  would 
have  been  nowhere,  and  she  would  have  had  a 
cadenza  against  time  and  a  flute  which  would 
have  filled  the  air  to  bursting  with  ecstatic  bra- 
vas.  And  the  chorus,  instead  of  figuring  as  a 
lot  of  dummies,  would  have  remarked: 

Oh,  what  a  fatal  event! 

Dread  fear  covers  all ! 

Night,  conceal  the  sad  misfortune 

With  thy  thick,  dark  veil ! 

It  seems  strange  that  any  thinking  human  be- 
ing should  write  such  puerile  nonsense  about  a 


COMMENTS  AND   COMMENTATORS.         J I 

great  dramatic  scene  as  Mr.  Joseph  Bennett  has 
written  about  Siegfried's  death.  Does  it  not 
strike  all  of  us  that  nothing  could  be  so  impres- 
sive as  the  stricken  speechlessness  of  the  grim 
warriors  who  cluster  in  the  moonlight  around 
Siegfried's  body  ?  Could  any  conversation  go 
on  except  that  of  those  persons  who  will  doubt- 
less struggle  to  discuss-their  dinner  parties  dur- 
ing the  blast  of  the  last  trumpet  ?  What  choral 
strains  could  possibly  be  written  that  would  not 
be  an  impertinence  interposed  between  Sieg- 
fried's last  words  and  that  more  than  human  mu- 
sic, the  death  march  ?  It  is,  indeed,  curious  that 
Mr.  Bennett  should  have  chosen  for  condemna- 
tion one  of  the  highest  examples  of  Wagner's  fit- 
ness for  the  production  of  an  immortal  tragedy. 
The  same  writer  complains  a  good  deal  about 
the  dramatic  power  of  "  Die  Gdtterdammerung." 
He  says :  "  Had  the  master  employed  ever  so 
freely  the  splendid  resources  that  lay  ready  to 
his  hand,  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  dramatic 
power  of  '  Gotterdammerung '  would  not  have 
put  the  music  in  a  secondary  place."  Remarks 
of  this  sort  show  how  admirably  Mr.  Bennett 
succeeded  in  his  brutish  determination  to  mis- 
understand Wagner.  To  all  who  know  that  it 
was  the  immovable  belief  of  the  master  that  the 
business  of  the  music  was  to  explain  and  illustrate 


72  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

the  drama,  and  that  it  must  consequently  be  in 
the  nature  of  things  subservient,  Mr.  Bennett's 
complaint  is  simply  amusing.  And  we  are  still 
more  delighted  when  he  proceeds  to  rank  the 
final  drama  of  the  Nibelung  cyclus  as  third  in 
order  of  excellence,  because  "  it  presents  little  of 
novelty." 

He  continues  thus :  »"  According  to  a  very 
careful  analysis  by  Herr  von  Wolzogen,  there 
are  in  '  Der  Ring  des  Nibelungen  '  ninety  dis- 
tinct motivi,  of  which  thirty-five  belong  to 
'  Das  Rhinegold,'  twenty-two  to  '  Die  Walkure,' 
twenty  to  '  Siegfried,'  and  only  thirteen  to  Got- 
terdammerung,'  which  thus  has,  with  small  re- 
lief, to  bear  the  burden  of  constantly  repeat- 
ing themes  already  heard  over  and  over  again." 
Now  here,  gentle  reader,  you  have  a  capital  plan 
for  estimating  the  comparative  value  of  Wag- 
ner's music-dramas.  The  master  adopted  a  sys- 
tem of  leit  motiven,  and  constructed  the  scores 
of  his  operas  out  of  themes  having  certain  mean- 
ings, ergo,  the  work  which  contains  the  most 
motives  has  the  most  meanings,  and  is  therefore 
the  best.  Thus  we  effectually  demonstrate  that 
"  Tristan  und  Isolde,"  which  contains  a  very 
:mall  number  of  leit  motiven,  is  one  of  the  poor- 
est of  all  the  master's  productions. 

In  the  drama  called  "Led  Astray,"  after  Hec- 


COMMENTS  AND    COMMENTATORS.         7$ 

tor  has  poured  out  a  long  tirade  against  the  im- 
morality of  the  times,  Rodolph  says :  "  Bravo, 
Hector,  you  talk  like  a  book!  The  bar  regrets 
you;  the  pulpit  has  lost  an  ornament.  Never- 
theless, Hector,  the  world  will  go  right  on  doing 
just  the  same."  Mr.  Bennett  talks  like  a  book 
— very  much  like  a  book.  Nevertheless  the 
world  will  go  right  on  regarding  "Die  Gotter- 
dammerung"as  the  mightiest  of  the  Nibelung 
dramas,  and  there  are  some  of  us,  not  extreme 
Wagnerites,  who  will  continue  to  regard  it  not 
only  as  the  greatest  of  Richard  Wagner's  crea- 
tions, but  also  as  the  grandest  musical  drama  in 
existence,  and  as  one  of  the  noblest  productions 
of  the  human  intellect.  And  we  shall  do  it 
largely  because  of  the  manner  in  which  the  leit 
motiven  belonging  to  "  Die  WalkCire  "  and  "  Sieg- 
fried "  are  repeated  in  such  episodes  as  the  hero's 
narration  of  his  early  life,  his  dying  speeches, 
and  his  funeral  march.  We  shall  hold  to  our 
belief  because  of  the  enormous  effect  of  the 
slight  changes  made  by  the  master  in  some  of 
his  themes.  Who  can  withstand  the  overwhelm- 
ing power  of  the  alteration  which  appears  in 
Siegfried's  motive  of  courage,  always  intoned  by 
the  hero  on  his  horn  ?  Wagner  simply  changes 
the  movement  of  the  motive  from  six-eighth  to 
common    time,    and    lo!   the   dashing,  brilliant 


74  " DER  RING  DES  NIB E LUNG EM" 

boldness  of  a  reckless,  enthusiastic  boy  becomes 
the  tremendous,  irresistible  heroism  of  a  mature, 
resolute,  indomitable  man. 

So  much  for  these  two  musical  lights  of  Eng- 
land. But  elsewhere  there  are  a  few  less  dis- 
tinguished writers  who,  by  joining  forces,  con- 
trive to  keep  up  the  old  controversy  about 
Italian  versus  German  opera.  This  warfare  is 
a  curious  thing.  It  is  curious  because  the  real 
question  is  so  often  obscured.  The  real  ques- 
tion is  obviously  this :  "  What  is  opera  ? " 
Given  a  good  working  definition  of  opera  as 
a  standard,  there  should  be  no  serious  difficul- 
ty in  testing  each  specimen  by  it.  The  result 
would  almost  certainly  be  that  the  controversy, 
as  between  Italian  and  German  opera,  would  be 
settled  ;  because  we  should  find  that  some  Ger- 
man works  were  weak  and  some  Italian  works 
strong.  An  attempt  at  a  practical  definition 
was  recently  made  by  a  New  York  newspaper 
writer,  who  said  that  opera  was  "  a  setting  for 
wonderful  voices  and  a  medium  for  the  bestowal 
of  pleasure  through  the  agency  of  entrancing 
harmonies.  That's  about  what  an  opera  is  in- 
tended to  be."  Who  intended  it  to  be  that  ? 
Not  the  Italian  enthusiasts  who  invented  it,  for 
their  views  as  to  the  nature  and  purpose  of 
opera   are   on    record.      The    "  entrancing   har» 


COMMENTS  AND   COMMENTATORS.         75 

monies  "  part  of  the  definition  may  at  once  be 
dismissed.  The  writer  evidently  meant  melo- 
dies, for  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  the  advo- 
cates of  the  vocal  display  opera  ("  setting  for 
wonderful  voices  ")  are  opposed  to  intricate  and 
changeful  harmony.  The  composers  who  in- 
tended their  operas  to  be  settings  for  wonderful 
voices  are  not  quite  as  important  as  those  who 
intended  theirs  to  be  dramas  with  music  em- 
ployed to  express  and  intensify  the  emotions 
indicated  by  the  text.  Here  is  a  list  of  the 
most  celebrated  of  each  class,  the  former  in  the 
first  column,  the  latter  in  the  second.  The  list, 
of  course,  is  not  made  arbitrarily,  but  is  justified 
by  musical  history,  by  the  internal  evidence  of 
the  composers'  works,  and  by  the  general  ver- 
dict of  the  musical  world  : 


Scarlatti  (A.), 

Peri, 

Piccini, 

Monteverde 

Pergolesi, 

Lulli, 

Jomelli, 

Rameau, 

Sacchini, 

Gluck, 

Paisiello, 

Mozart, 

Cimarosa, 

Cherubini, 

Marcello, 

Spontini, 

Lotti, 

Beethoven, 

Caldara, 

Weber, 

Buononcini, 

Marschner, 

Galuppi, 

Me"hul, 

76  " DER  RING  DES  NZBELUNGEN." 

Fux,  Halevy, 

Graun,  Gounod, 

Hasse,  Bizet, 

Handel,  Wagner, 

Rossini,  Reyer, 

Mercadante,  Saint-Saens, 

Pacini,  Massenet, 

Bellini,  Lalo, 

Donizetti,  Rubinstein, 

Meyerbeer,  Boito, 

Verdi  (early),  Ponchielli, 

Thomas.  Goldmark, 
Franchetti, 
Verdi  (late). 

There  may  easily  be  a  difference  of  opinion 
as  to  the  place  of  Handel  and  Meyerbeer,  but 
the  writer  believes  that  he  has  good  grounds  for 
placing  them  in  the  first  class.  Verdi  belongs 
to  the  first  class  by  all  his  work  up  to  "  Aida," 
but  that  opera  and  "  Otello  "  certainly  put  him 
in  the  second  ;  consequently  he  is  given  a  place 
in  each  list.  The  weight  of  the  authority  of 
great  musicians  seems  to  be  considerably  in 
favor  of  the  true  musical  drama.  Counting 
Verdi  once  in  each  class,  there  are  six  compo- 
sers in  the  first  division  whose  operas  are  per- 
formed to-day,  and  twenty-one  in  the  second 
division,  of  whom  eleven  are  living.  There  is 
no  living  composer  of  celebrity  still  producing 


COMMENTS  AND   COMMENTATORS.         "J 7 

operas  intended  to  be  simply  a  "setting  for 
wonderful  voices."  They  are  all  sacrificing  the 
old-fashioned  operatic  formulas  and  fiorituri  to 
"  alleged  dramatic  requirements." 

There  is  nothing  so  absolutely  unsatisfactory 
as  a  contest  over  art,  because  where  purposes 
are  diametrically  opposed  it  is  impossible  for 
the  contending  parties  to  understand  one  an- 
other. The  Wagnerite  says  he  does  not  care 
anything  whatever  about  waltz  tempi  and  sweet 
melodies,  which  are  as  comprehensible  to  a  child 
as  they  are  to  an  old  man.  He  wants  dramatic 
truth,  and  if  an  ugly  sentiment  is  to  be  uttered, 
it  must  be  expressed  in  dissonant  music;  for  to 
couch  it  in  mellifluous  measures  would  be  an 
absurdity.  The  anti-Wagnerite  declares  that 
he  goes  to  the  opera  for  pleasure,  and  that  his 
pleasure  consists  in  hearing  beautiful  tunes 
beautifully  sung.  It  is  a  curious  fact — at  any 
rate,  it  seems  to  be  a  fact — that  the  bona  fide 
anti-Wagnerite  never  goes  to  a  symphony  or 
chamber-music  concert.  If  he  did,  he  would, 
in  order  to  be  consistent,  be  obliged  to  condemn 
Beethoven,  Schumann,  Liszt,  Chopin,  Brahms, 
Dvorak,  Tschaikowsky,  and  Rubinstein  for  do- 
ing the  very  same  thing  that  Wagner  did — 
writing  dissonant  measures  when  it  suited  their 
purpose  to  do  so.     But,  as  there  is  no  blatant 


78  "  DER  RING   DES  NIBELC/NGEN." 

opposition  to  these  composers,  we  are  forced  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  anti-Wagnerites  do  not 
go  to  hear  their  music,  or  else  they  are  incon- 
sistent, which  is,  of  course,  inconceivable. 

What  is  the  use  of  opposing  Wagner,  if  he  is 
such  a  wretched  composer  ?  Why  not  let  him 
sink  into  that  obscurity  which  is  the  inevita- 
ble doom  of  all  false  artists  ?  Does  anyone  sup- 
pose for  a  moment  that  a  great  metropolitan 
public  can  be  forced  to  go  and  spend  its  money 
on  a  pleasure  which  does  not  please  it  ?  The 
spectacle  of  three  thousand  intelligent  citizens 
of  New  York  struggling  for  seats  or  standing 
room  in  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  four 
times  a  week,  to  hear  operas  which  they  do  not 
like,  simply  because  a  few  "Wagner  maniacs," 
as  they  are  called,  proclaim  in  the  market 
places  that  he  is  the  greatest  writer  of  lyric 
dramas  that  ever  lived,  would  be  astounding. 
Would  any  amount  of  shouting  and  gesticulat- 
ing induce  this  public  to  conduct  itself  in  a  sim- 
ilar manner  with  regard  to  the  operas  of  Mich- 
ael William  Balfe?  Not  by  any  means.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  why  should  a  lover  of  the 
mighty  dramas  of  Wagner  allow  his  choler  to 
rise  when  Italian  opera  is  announced  ?  Is  there 
no  balm  in  Gilcad  ?  Is  there  nothing  good  in 
Italian  opera,  because  it  is  conceived  in  a  differ- 


COMMENTS  AND   COMMENTATORS.         Jg 

ent  spirit  and  written  in  a  different  style  from 
Wagner's  works  ?  What  folly  !  What  puerility 
to  make  such  an  assertion !  Italian  opera  has 
one  merit  which  endears  it  to  this  public,  and 
with  good  reason.  It  cherishes  an  art  whose 
loveliness  never  grows  old  and  whose  attractions 
never  pall.  "  Age  cannot  wither  nor  custom 
stale  "  its  "  infinite  variety."  I  mean  the  art  of 
beautiful  singing. 

Without  that  art  the  opera  must  surely  per- 
ish. With  it  the  Wagnerian  artist  can  reach 
real  greatness.  What  would  Sucher,  Malten, 
Lehmann,  and  the  rest  be  without  their  voices 
and  their  polished  vocal  art  ?  Yet  all  that  these 
people  know  about  singing  Italy  taught  them 
directly  or  indirectly.  It  is  not  necessary  for 
the  writer  to  reiterate  his  often-repeated  esti- 
mate of  the  value  of  Italian  methods  in  singing. 
Those  methods  speak  for  themselves  through 
the  medium  of  the  marvellous  voices  with  which 
the  Creator  gifted  such  singers  as  Patti  and  Al- 
bani. 

There  would  never  be  any  controversy  be- 
tween Wagner  and  Italian  opera  if  the  contest- 
ants would  simply  admit  the  purposes  of  each. 
Wagner  strove  to  unite  poetry,  painting,  action, 
and  music  in  one  coherent  and  vital  dramatic 
art.     The  purpose  of  the  music  is  the  same  as 


8o  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

that  of  the  painting  and  the  action — to  illus- 
trate and  explicate  the  poem.  This  being  so,  it 
is  obvious  that  all  set  forms  are  illogical  for  the 
purpose  in  hand,  and  all  music  which  does  not 
sacrifice  beauty  to  truth  is  false  to  the  compos- 
er's design.  The  purpose  of  the  so-called  Italian 
opera  is  to  produce — first,  last,  and  all  the  time — 
sweet  melodies  which  can  be  sweetly  sung.  To 
this  end  the  dramatic  poem  is  so  constructed  as 
to  admit  a  pleasing  variety  in  the  order  of  solos, 
duets,  trios,  quartets,  choruses,  and  ensembles, 
and  the  orchestral  portion  of  the  work  is  treated 
strictly  as  an  accompaniment  to  the  voices.  If 
any  emotion  demands  a  harsh  and  dissonant  ut- 
terance, it  must  be  modified  in  such  a  way  that 
it  can  be  expressed  in  song  without  interference 
with  the  production  of  a  beautiful  tone.  In 
brief,  the  whole  machinery  of  the  opera  of  the 
"Lucia,"  "La  Traviata,"  and  "II  Trovatore" 
school  is  constructed  for  the  business  of  turn- 
ing out  good  singing. 

Now,  what  is  the  use  of  going  over  the  old 
argument  that  one  is  a  true  art  form  and  the 
other  an  intolerable  hybrid  ?  Verdi  has  admitted 
the  truth  of  that  argument.  So  have  Gounod 
and  Boito  and  Reyer  and  Lalo  and  Franchetti 
and  Saint-Saens  and  Massenet,  and  other  con- 
temporaneous   composers,    who    have    demon- 


COMMENTS  AND   COMMENTATORS.         8 1 

strated  in  their  works  their  belief  that  the  true 
principle  was  proclaimed  by  the  inventors  of 
opera  when  they  sought  for  it  in  the  Greek 
drama.  Rossini  practically  admitted  in  "  Will- 
iam Tell  "  that  the  Neapolitan  idea  was  a  mis- 
take. Donizetti  and  Bellini  lived  in  the  reign 
of  the  great  singers,  and  they  wrote  for  them. 
If  they  had  lived  till  to-day  they  might  have 
followed  Verdi  and  the  rest  of  them. 

If  people  who  love  Wagner  would  content 
themselves  with  saying,  "  I  do  not  like  opera 
which  is  essentially  undramatic,"  and  those  who 
love  the  Italian  writers  of  the  old  style  would 
be  satisfied  to  say,  "  I  like  opera  in  which  there 
is  nothing  but  beautiful  singing,"  and  let  the 
matter  rest  there,  how  much  more  pleasant  it 
would  be  !  "  But,"  says  someone,  "  the  persons 
who  write  in  the  public  prints  will  not  let  the 
matter  drop.  Why  do  not  they  assume  the  at- 
titude which  you  so  heartily  recommend  ? " 
Simply  because,  dear  reader,  it  is  the  critic's 
business  to  seek  for  the  true,  the  beautiful,  and 
the  good  in  art.  To  be  sure,  if  he  becomes  a 
controversialist,  he  is  not  holding  the  ideal  po- 
sition of  a  critic.  If  he  becomes  an  out  and  out 
partisan,  he  sacrifices  himself.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  critic  must  eventually  arrive  at  some 
conclusions.  He  must  possess  some  sort  ofcon- 
6 


82  "  DER  RING  DES  NIBELUNGEN." 

victions.  He  cannot  forever  be  going  about  in- 
quiring, "  What  is  true  art  ?  "  The  futility  of 
an  examination  which  never  reaches  any  results 
is  obvious.  All  that  can  be  asked  of  the  critic 
is  that  he  shall  carefully  and  without  prejudice 
view  both  sides  of  the  question  before  forming 
an  opinion.  That,  too,  is  all  that  can  be  asked 
of  the  public.  If  the  critic  finds  that  a  certain 
form  of  art  is  based  on  false  principles,  but  has 
many  beauties,  he  has  no  right  to  close  his  eyes 
to  its  attractions.  Neither  has  the  non-profes- 
sional critic — for  every  person  who  goes  to  the 
opera  is,  of  course,  a  critic  in  and  for  himself. 
The  ardent  lover  of  Wagner  has  no  right  to  say 
that  there  is  no  merit  in  Italian  opera.  It  is  not 
true.  Therefore  he  has  no  right  to  view  with 
contempt  those  who  prefer  Italian  opera  to  Ger- 
man. They  like  good  singing  and  they  don't 
care  a  rap  about  dramatic  significance.  There 
are  substantial  arguments  in  favor  of  a  love  for 
pure  vocal  technique,  and  the  lover  of  Wagner, 
if  he  is  fair-minded,  must  recognize  them. 

If  he  feels  that  the  lover  of  Italian  opera  is  in 
a  benighted  condition  of  musical  taste,  let  him 
calmly  and  sensibly  endeavor  to  explain  the 
greatness  of  Wagner.  If  the  lover  of  Italian 
opera  believes  that  his  Wagnerite  friend  is  in 
outer  darkness,  where  there  is  weeping  and  wail- 


COMMENTS  AND   COMMENTATORS.         83 

ing  and  gnashing  of  trombones,  let  him  calmly 
and  sensibly  endeavor  to  explain  the  greatness 
of  Donizetti.  Let  him  lecture  to  his  Wagner- 
ite  friend  on  "  How  to  listen  to  Bellini."  But, 
for  pity's  sake,  let  them  not  go  at  one  another 
tooth  and  nail,  as  if  the  divine  mysteries  of  mu- 
sic were  to  be  settled  by  the  rules  of  the  Mar- 
quis of  Queensberry.  Exhibitions  of  wrath  over 
these  things  will  never  convince  mankind  that 
one  is  seeking,  as  Matthew  Arnold  puts  it,  to 
"  learn  and  propagate  the  best  that  is  known 
and  thought  in  the  world." 


WAGNERIANA. 


I.— The  Book  of  "  Parsifal.** 

Mr.  John  P.  Jackson  has  written  an  admi- 
rable introduction  to  his  English  version  of 
Wagner's  "  Parsifal."  In  that  introduction  Mr. 
Jackson  has  made  excellent  use  of  Professor 
Tappert's  contributions  to  our  knowledge  of  the 
master's  works.  It  is  well  known  that  the  poem 
of  "  Parsifal  "  was  completed  by  Wagner  in  the 
summer  of  1877,  or  about  a  year  after  the  first 
Bayreuth  festival,  when  the  Nibelung  tragedy 
was  revealed  in  its  entirety.  He  read  it  on  Sep- 
tember 1 6th  before  the  delegates  from  the  Ger- 
man Wagner  societies  which  had  made  his  dream 
of  a  Wagner  theatre  an  actual  fact.  "  Rev- 
erently we  sat  that  afternoon,"  says  Professor 
Tappert,  "  in  villa  Wahnfried.  It  was  an  hour 
that  can  never  be  forgotten.  When  the  master 
came  to  the  third  act,  just  to  the  place  where  the 
coffin  with  Titurel's  corpse  is  borne  into  the  hall 
by  the  Knights  of  the  Grail,  the  sun  was  sinking 
behind  the  trees  in  the  Hof  Garden.  His  last 
beams,  tremblingly,  like  greeting   spirits,  came 


88  WAGNERTANA. 

silently  into  the  room  and  glorified  the  scene, 
the  waves  of  light  resting  like  a  halo  around  the 
head  of  the  composer."  We  can  easily  imagine 
the  effect  of  such  a  picture  upon  those  who  heard 
for  the  first  time  this  marvellous  dramatic  poem. 
According  to  Edward  Dannreuther,  this  scene 
was  foreshadowed  on  May  17th,  when  the  master 
read  "  Parsifal "  to  a  circle  of  friends  in  Orme 
Square,  London.  The  book  was  published  in 
December,  1877.  "But,"  says  Mr.  Jackson, 
"  the  germ  of  the  '  Parsifal '  music-drama  was 
born  in  Wagner's  mind  much  earlier  than  1877. 
The  first  portions  were  the  '  Abendmahl '  scene 
and  the  '  Good  Friday  Magic'  The  latter  is 
thought  to  date  from  the  year  1857.  Professor 
Tappert  says:  'Wagner  told  me  (in  1877)  that 
in  the  fifties,  when  in  Zurich,  he  took  possession 
on  a  Good  Friday  of  a  charming  new  house,  and 
that,  inspired  by  the  beautiful  spring  weather, 
he  wrote  out  the  sketch  that  very  day  of  the 
Good  Friday  music.'"  From  a  letter  of  his  to 
Tichatschek  (the  tenor),  dated  Zurich,  February 
9,  1857,  Professor  Tappert  believes  that  he  is 
justified  in  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  1857 
is  the  date  to  be  adopted.  The  passage  in  his 
letter  is  quoted  by  Mr.  Jackson,  and  reads  :  "  At 
Easter  I  shall  take  possession  of  a  very  charming 
little  villa  near  Zurich,  with  a  pretty  garden,  in 


THE  BOOK  OF   "PARSIFAL."  89 

a  glorious  position,  just  like  I  have  so  long  de- 
sired. There  I  shall  soon  get  settled  and  begin 
work  in  earnest."  According  to  Mr.  Dann- 
reuther,  Wagner  began  to  sketch  the  music  of 
the  separate  acts  of  the  work  in  his  sixty-fifth 
year.  The  sketch  of  the  first  act  was  completed 
in  the  spring  of  1878.  The  greater  part  of  the 
second  act  was  outlined  by  the  middle  of  June 
and  finished  on  October  nth.  The  sketch  of 
the  third  act  was  begun  after  Christmas  and  com- 
pleted in  April,  1879.  The  master  began  the 
instrumentation  soon  afterward,  and  finished  it 
at  Palermo,  January  13,  1882.  The  first  per- 
formance took  place  at  Bayreuth  on  July  25, 
1882,  and  in  July  and  August  of  that  year  the 
work  was  given  sixteen  times  at  Bayreuth.  W. 
S.  B.  Mathews  witnessed  the  production  of  the 
work  there  in  1884.  He  wrote  :  "'Parsifal,'  as 
given  here,  is  a  revelation.  The  performance  is 
of  such  a  consistently  elevated  character,  and  so 
easily  carried  out  in  every  department,  as  to  make 
one  realize  that  in  his  whole  life  he  has  never  be- 
fore witnessed  an  artistic  presentation  of  opera." 
But  "  Parsifal "  is  no  opera.  It  is  not  even  a 
lyric  drama.  It  is  what  the  great  tragedies  of 
the  Greeks  were — a  religious  ceremony.  On 
February  13,  1883,  Wagner  died  in  Venice.  No 
man  ever  went  before  his  Maker  with  a  nobler 


90  WAGNERIANA. 

offering  than  "  Parsifal."  In  all  his  works  Wag- 
ner had  preached  the  gospel  of  self-sacrifice.  In 
"  Parsifal  "  he  returned  to  that  beautiful  Chris- 
tian mythology  from  which  he  had  drawn  his  in- 
spiration for  "Tannhauser"  and  "Lohengrin," 
and  gave  to  the  world  a  passion  play  beside  which 
(considering  the  power  of  music)  even  the  sacred 
tragedy  of  Oberammergau  must  seem  feeble. 

It  was  while  collecting  the  materials  for 
"  Tannhauser  "  that  Wagner  read,  among  other 
things,  the  mediaeval  poem,  "  Der  Wartburg- 
krieg,"  which  led  him  to  study  the  personal 
character  of  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  as  well  as 
to  perceive  the  availability  of  his  "  Parzival  "  for 
dramatic  purposes.  It  is  aside  from  our  direct 
purpose,  but  extremely  interesting,  to  note  here 
the  astonishing  extent  of  the  preparatory  stud- 
ies which  Wagner  undertook  in  approaching  all 
of  his  great  works,  and  the  fidelity  with  which 
he  reproduced  facts  whenever  it  was  possible. 
Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  did  actually  pass  the 
year  1204  at  the  Court  of  the  Landgrave  Herr- 
mann of  Thuringia,  at  the  Castle  Wartburg,  near 
Eisenach,  where  were  also  (according  to  the 
poem)  Walter  von  der  Vogelweide,  Reimar  the 
Elder,  Henry  of  Rispach,  Henry  of  Ofterdingen, 
and  Klingesor  von  Ungerland.  Wolfram  figures 
in  the  "  Wartburgkrieg  "  (the  Wartburg  contest) 


THE  BOOK  OF   "PARSIFAL."  9 1 

as  a  legendary  personage,  but  it  is  not  at  all  im- 
probable that  he  really  did  take  part  in  such  a 
contest  as  Wagner  has  pictured  in  "  Tannhauser." 
The  poet-composer,  at  any  rate,  has  been  so 
truthful  as  to  make  the  character  of  Wolfram  in 
the  opera  consistent  with  that  of  the  real  man, 
and  to  make  him  utter  sentiments  which  are 
in  keeping  with  those  of  Wolfram's  writings. 
Bayard  Taylor  says  that  he  finds  spiritual  mean- 
ing shining  through  the  lines  of  "  Parzival."  It 
appears  to  him  to  inculcate  the  doctrine  that 
"  peace  of  soul  comes  only  through  faith  and 
obedience."  This  is  not  far  from  the  doctrine 
inculcated  by  Wagner's  "  Parsifal."  Wolfram's 
poem  opens  with  an  introduction  in  which  the 
merits  of  true  womanhood  are  extolled  in  pref- 
erence to  mere  beauty.  This  is  the  very  heart 
of  the  controversy  in  the  contest  of  song  in 
"  Tannhauser,"  and  Wolfram  takes  the  same 
position  there,  opposing  Tannhauser's  rash  ad- 
vocacy of  the  delights  of  sensual  love.  It  is  not 
strange  that  Wagner,  whose  life-work  was  large- 
ly devoted  to  preaching  the  salvation  of  man 
through  the  pure  love  of  woman,  should  have 
studied  the  works  of  Wolfram  and  drawn  from 
them,  first  "  Lohengrin,"  and  afterward  the  sacred 
music-drama  "  Parsifal."  It  is  a  pity  that  we 
know  so  little  about  Wolfram's  life.     That  he 


92  WAGNERIANA. 

was  a  Bavarian  is  gathered  from  his  own  state- 
ment (Stanza  12 1,  Line  7,  Canto  Gurnemanz, 
"  Parzival"),  and  that  he  was  poor  and  obliged 
to  subsist  after  the  precarious  fashion  of  mediaeval 
minstrels,  is  tolerably  well  proved.  These  and 
the  few  other  facts  mentioned  are  all  that  we 
know  of  his  history ;  but  his  nobility  of  character 
is  established  on  foundations  which  cannot  be 
shaken.  His  great  poem  remained  unpublished 
until  1477,  when  it  was  given  to  the  world  in 
two  volumes  under  the  title  of  "  Partzifal  und 
Titurel." 

The  story  of  Parsifal  and  his  relations  with 
the  Knights  of  the  Holy  Grail  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  the  tales  of  chivalresque  ro- 
mance. The  romance  literature  of  the  mediae- 
val ages  is  divided  into  several  cycles,  of  which 
one  is  known  as  the  Arthurian.  The  five 
stories  in  this  cycle  are  those  of  Merlin,  Perce- 
val, the  Grail,  Launcelot,  and  Tristan.  The 
Perceval  legend,  with  which  we  are  now  con- 
cerned, rests  upon  the  Grail  story,  which,  there- 
fore, demands  our  first  consideration.  It  is  said 
to  have  been  introduced  into  Spain  by  the 
Arabs,  who,  of  course,  did  not  endow  the  cup 
with  the  sacred  power  of  the  Christian  legend. 
According  to  Wolfram,  Guyot  de  Provins 
(flourished   1190-95),    author  of  a  poem  about 


THE  BOOK  OF   "PARSIFAL:'  93 

Perceval  from  which  Wolfram  translated  much 
of  his  own  work,  found  an  old  black-letter  man- 
uscript in  Arabic  at  Toledo.  From  this  he 
learned  that  one  Flagetanis,  a  heathen,  born  be- 
fore Christ,  and  celebrated  for  his  knowledge  of 
the  dark  arts,  had  read  in  the  stars  that  there 
would  appear  a  thing  called  the  Gral,  and  that 
whosoever  should  be  called  to  its  service  would 
be  blessed.  Guyot  promptly  went  into  exten- 
sive researches  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining 
whether  anyone  had  ever  been  found  worthy 
of  this  service,  and,  as  the  house  of  Anjou  was 
in  power,  Guyot,  after  the  manner  of  flattering 
troubadours,  proceeded  to  discover  that  in  re- 
mote times  the  Gral  had  been  intrusted  to  the 
keeping  of  one  Titurel,  a  fabulous  king  of  the 
Anjou  dynasty.  It  is  doubtful  whether  Guyot 
ever  saw  the  black-letter  manuscript  except 
with  his  mind's  eye.  Simrock,  who  translated 
Wolfram's  poem  into  modern  German,  thinks 
that  the  Gral  legend  is  of  Provencal  origin. 
He  quotes  in  evidence  Dietz's  "  Etymologisches 
Worterbuch  der  Romanischen  Sprachen " 
(1855),  which  says  that  "even  now  in  Southern 
France  'grazal,'  'grazau,'  '  grial,'  '  grau,'  are 
used  for  various  kinds  of  vessels."  Perplexity 
has  prevailed  over  all  attempts  at  showing  the 
true  meaning  of  the  word  "  grail  ;  "  but  in  view 


94  WA  GNERIA  NA . 

of  the  tenacity  of  archaic  words  among  provin- 
cial people,  Simrock's  evidence  appears  to  the 
writer  to  be  excellent,  especially  when  coupled 
with  the  fact  that  in  that  Provencal  version  of 
the  story  on  which  Guyot's  poem  is  undoubt- 
edly founded,  and  which  therefore  antedates 
Wolfram's,  the  grail  is  a  cup. 

According  to  Wolfram,  sixty  thousand  angels 
who  wished  to  drive  God  out  of  heaven  made 
a  crown  for  Lucifer.  When  the  archangel  Mi- 
chael dashed  it  from  his  head  a  stone  fell  out, 
and  this  became  the  Grail.  Robert  de  Borron, 
a  trouvere,  born  near  Meaux,  wrote  (about 
1170-80)  the  Provencal  version  which  has  been 
referred  to.  It  was  called  "  Joseph  of  Arima- 
thea,"  or  "The  History  of  the  Holy  Grail,"  and 
in  it  Perceval  (Wagner's  Parsifal)  was  undoubt- 
edly mentioned.  Now,  how  did  this  hero  of  a 
French  romance  come  to  be  that  of  one  of  the 
British  Arthurian  legends  ?  And  here  we  are 
confronted  with  evidence  that  seems  to  prove 
Perceval  to  have  been  of  British  origin,  for  one 
writer  derives  his  name  from  "  perchen,"  a  root 
signifying  possession,  and  "  mail"  (initially  in- 
flected "vail"),  a  cup,  and  surmises  that  the 
earliest  form  of  the  name  was  Percheuval, 
meaning  cup-holder  or  grail-keeper.  Whether 
this  be  the  true  explanation  of  the  name  or  not, 


THE  BOOK  OF   "PARSIFAL."  95 

it  strikes  us  as  being  far  more  acceptable  than 
that  which  Wagner  made  for  the  purpose  of  his 
drama,  deriving  the  name  from  Arabic  "  Fal- 
parsi,"  foolish  pure  one. 

The  exploits  of  Arthur  were  compiled  by 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth.  He  died  in  1 154,  the 
year  in  which  Henry  II.  ascended  the  throne. 
Henry  was  of  the  house  of  Anjou,  and  united 
under  his  sceptre  the  crowns  of  England,  Nor- 
mandy, Anjou,  and  a  great  part  of  Southern 
France.  In  his  reign  (1154-89)  flourished  Wal- 
ter Map,  an  Archdeacon  of  Oxford.  His  chief 
work,  according  to  Professor  Morley,  consisted 
in  introducing  the  Holy  Grail  into  the  ro- 
mances which  existed  before  his  time,  and  mak- 
ing it  the  pivot  around  which  they  all  revolved. 
And  here,  as  Professor  Dippold  notes  in  his 
"  Great  Epics  of  Mediaeval  Germany,"  we  have 
an  explanation  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
French  and  English  versions  of  Perceval  and 
the  Grail  legend  became  intermingled.  The 
unification  of  England  and  parts  of  France  un- 
der one  monarch  was  directly  favorable  to  such 
a  result.  It  accounts  for  the  fact,  too,  that  al- 
most simultaneously  with  Robert  de  Borron,  as 
far  as  we  know  now,  Chretien  de  Troyes  wrote 
a  "  Conte  de  Graal."  His  poem  does  not  give 
a  complete  account  of  the  adventures  of  Perce- 


g6  WAGXERIANA. 

val,  and  Wolfram,  who  mentions  him,  accuses 
him  of  having  incorrectly  told  the  sacred  story. 
The  Grail  romance,  as  written  by  Borron, 
does  not  mention  the  stone  from  Lucifer's 
crown,  which  afterward  became  the  sacred  cup 
used  by  Christ  at  the  Last  Supper.  According 
to  tradition,  Pilate  permitted  Joseph  of  Arima- 
thea  to  take  the  body  of  Jesus  down  from  the 
cross,  and  gave  him  "  son  vaisseul,"  the  sacred 
cup,  in  which  Joseph  piously  collected  the  Sav- 
iour's blood,  and  the  lance  with  which  the 
Master's  side  was  pierced.  Joseph  and  his 
brother-in-law  Bron  (subsequently  dubbed  "  le 
roi  pecheur  ")  went  westward  and  the  Grail  was 
transferred  to  the  keeping  of  Bron,  who  became 
the  head  of  the  line  of  Grail-warders.  Borron, 
the  reader  will  note,  did  not  discover  any  black- 
letter  manuscript  with  evidence  that  his  sover- 
eign's ancestors  were  the  warders.  Bron  re- 
mains on  the  Continent,  while  Alan,  his  son, 
settles  in  Britain,  where  he  becomes  the  father 
of  Perceval.  Bron  has  kept  the  Grail  and  all 
knowledge  pertaining  to  it  profoundly  secret 
from  everyone  save  Alan.  Perceval  is  to  be  the 
third  of  the  race  to  see  the  Grail,  but  after  pass- 
ing through  a  perilous  quest.  In  the  meantime 
Perceval  has  become  a  knight  of  Arthur's  round 
table,  and  starts  on  his  journey.     After  various 


THE  BOOK  OF   "PARSIFAL:'  9/ 

adventures  he  sees  his  grandfather,  the  Grail, 
and  the  holy  spear,  without  knowing  in  whose 
presence  he  is,  or  making  any  inquiries.  Here 
we  have  the  origin  of  the  idea  of  Parsifal's  be- 
ing a  guileless  fool.  In  a  second  attempt  the 
knight  is  more  successful.  Bron  reveals  him- 
self, explains  the  mysteries,  and  tells  the  pre- 
cious truths  which  Joseph  had  ordered  should 
be  told  only  to  the  third  of  his  lineage.  Bron 
dies  and  Perceval  becomes  keeper  of  the  Grail. 
In  this  simple  story,  which  is,  of  course,  told 
with  a  great  elaboration  of  detail,  are  contained 
the  elements  of  the  romance  of  Wolfram  von 
Eschenbach.  There  is  a  version  of  the  tale  in 
the  Welsh  Mabinogion,  which  is  thought  by 
some  to  be  the  primitive  source  of  the  Parsifal 
legend.  This  story  of  "  Peredur  the  Brave  Son 
of  Evrawe "  is  found  in  the  "  Red  Book  of 
Hergest,"  of  which  a  translation  is  preserved  in 
the  library  of  Jesus  College,  Oxford.  Professor 
Dippold  gives  a  full  review  of  this  old  epic  in 
his  volume  previously  mentioned,  and  wisely 
argues  that  if  it  were  the  primitive  source  of  the 
story  it  would  be  a  much  simpler  version.  It 
is  a  long  and  complicated  tale,  and  contains 
abundant  internal  evidence  that  it  has  been  sub- 
jected to  that  accretive  process  through  which 
all  legends  pass  with  the  advance  of  time. 

7 


98  WAGNER  J ANA. 

In  Wolfram's  epic  Parzival  is  the  son  of 
Gamuret  and  Herzoloide.  Gam u ret  is  slain  in 
a  tournament,  and  Herzoloide,  fearing  that  her 
son  may  meet  with  a  similar  fate,  brings  him  up 
in  the  forest  of  Soltane,  in  utter  ignorance  of 
chivalry.  But  the  youth  one  day  sees  three 
knights,  whom  he  takes  for  angels.  They  tell 
him  that  if  he  wishes  to  become  a  hero  of  chiv- 
alry he  must  go  to  King  Arthur's  Court.  Her- 
zoloide, sore  at  heart,  is  forced  to  yield  to  her 
son's  entreaties.  Before  letting  him  depart, 
however,  she  dresses  him  in  the  costume  of  a 
fool.  After  some  stirring  adventures  he  reaches 
Arthur's  Court,  where  his  manly  beauty  com- 
mands admiration  in  spite  of  his  strange  attire. 
The  youth  becomes  a  knight  and  does  some 
brave  deeds,  after  which  he  comes  to  the  castle 
of  an  old  warrior  named  Gurnemanz,  who  gives 
him  much  instruction.  Parzival  goes  forward 
again  and  eventually  arrives  at  the  castle  of  the 
Grail.  Here  occurs  a  scene  very  similar  to  the 
first  scene  in  the  castle  in  Wagner's  drama. 
The  sacred  lance,  dripping  with  blood,  is  car- 
ried around  the  hall,  and  Urepanse  de  Joie,  the 
purest  of  women,  enters,  bearing  the  Holy 
Grail.  The  sacred  stone  is  placed  in  front  of 
the  lord  of  the  castle,  whose  face  shows  that  he 
is  suffering  great  agony,  and  the  feast  of  the 


THE  BOOK  OF   "PARSIFAL."  99 

Grail  takes  place.  Parzival  asks  no  questions 
and  learns  nothing.  Before  departing  he  sees 
in  an  adjoining  room  a  very  aged  man  (Titurel) 
reposing  on  a  bed.  As  he  is  leaving  the  castle 
the  next  morning  he  is  scolded  by  a  knight  for 
not  asking  the  question  on  which  depends  the 
recovery  of  the  sick  lord  of  the  Grail.  He  after- 
ward learns  where  it  is  that  he  has  been. 

He  returns  to  the  Court  of  King  Arthur  and 
is  admitted  to  the  fellowship  of  the  Round 
Table.  At  a  feast  there  appears  a  woman  called 
Condrie  la  Sorciere,  of  dread  appearance,  the 
terrible  messenger  of  the  Holy  Grail,  who  over- 
whelms Parzival  with  abuse  because  he  did  not 
ask  the  question,  and  says  to  King  Arthur: 

The  glory  of  the  Table  Round, 
Its  power,  far  and  wide  renowned, 
By  Percival  has  been  impaired, 
Since  he  its  fellowship  has  shared. 

At  the  same  time  Condrie  summons  the 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table  to  set  free  the 
maidens  imprisoned  in  the  magic  Chateau  Mer- 
veilleux.  Parzival  renounces  the  Round  Table, 
believing  himself  unworthy,  and  departs  in 
quest  of  the  Holy  Grail.  He  falls  in  with  a 
hermit  named  Trevrecent,  who  tells  him  that 
every  Good  Friday  a  dove  descends  from  heaven 


I  CO  WAGNERIANA. 

and  places  a  wafer  on  the  Holy  Grail,  "  by 
which  the  latter  receives  the  power  of  giving 
eternal  life,  and  providing  its  servants  with  all 
kinds  of  meat  and  drink."  Then  the  hermit 
goes  on  to  tell  him  that  "  Amfortas,  the  present 
King  of  the  Holy  Grail,  having  yielded  to  the 
allurement  of  forbidden  love,  had  been  severely 
punished  for  his  offence.  In  a  combat  with  a 
pagan  he  was  wounded  by  a  poisoned  lance, 
and  since  that  time  had  been  suffering  intensely 
and  no  one  could  cure  him,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  sight  of  the  Holy  Grail  prevented  him 
from  dying.  At  last  there  appeared,  the  hermit 
continues,  a  prophecy  written  on  the  Holy 
Grail,  saying  that  whenever  a  knight  should 
come  and  ask  for  the  cause  of  the  king's  suffer- 
ings, without  being  reminded  of  it,  the  king 
would  recover  and  his  crown  devolve  on  that 
knight."  Thus  Parzival  learns  of  his  error. 
He  repents,  and  Trevrecent  gives  him  absolu- 
tion. 

Much  of  the  poem  is  now  taken  up  with  the 
struggles  between  the  good  knights  and  the 
powers  of  darkness,  one  of  whose  chief  instru- 
ments is  the  beautiful  woman  Orgueilleuse.  She 
tempts  Gawain,  but  he  conquers,  and  frees  the 
maidens  imprisoned  by  the  magician  Klingschor 
in  the  Chateau  Merveilleux.     Parzival,  in  the 


THE  BOOK   OF   "PARSIFAL."  IOI 

meantime,  is  engaged  in  other  struggles,  after 
which  he  rides  to  Mont  Salvage,  prays  before 
the  Holy  Grail,  and  asks  the  suffering  king  the 
all-important  question.  Amfortas  recovers  and 
the  crown  is  given  to  Parzival.  And  now  we 
have  reviewed  the  entire  material  from  which 
Wagner  made  his  marvellous  music-drama. 

Parsifal  is  a  guileless  fool  because  he  was 
brought  up  in  ignorance  of  the  world  by  his 
mother,  Heart  of  Sorrows.  He,  too,  sees  three 
knights  in  the  forest  and  fares  forth  after  them. 
But  how  Wagner  has  transformed  all  the  rest  of 
his  material !  The  sacred  spear  is  once  more,  as 
it  was  in  Chretien's  poem,  the  lance  which 
wounded  Amfortas  and  which  alone  can  cure 
him  by  its  touch,  but  it  is  in  the  power  of  Kling- 
sor,  the  magician.  Condrie  and  Orgueilleuse 
are  moulded  into  one  under  the  name  of  Kundry, 
and  it  is  Parsifal  who  withstands  the  temptation 
instead  of  Gawain.  He  recovers  the  sacred 
spear,  and,  by  making  with  it  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  destroys  the  enchantment  of  the  Chateau 
Merveilleux.  Enlightened  by  pity,  he  returns 
after  a  long  and  weary  search  to  the  Graalburg 
and  heals  the  sufferer's  wound.  This  enlighten- 
ment by  pity  is  a  purely  Wagnerian  touch,  for 
pity  is  the  ethical  principle  of  Wagner's  philoso- 
pher, Arthur  Schopenhauer.     It  was  Hanslick 


102  IV A  GNERIA  NA . 

who  first  called  attention  to  this  beautiful  em- 
ployment of  Schopenhauer's  idea.  It  is  unneces- 
sary to  speak  at  length  of  the  sublime  style  in 
which  Wagner  has  treated  the  Grail  supper  and 
the  Good  Friday  spell,  which  are  but  scantily 
outlined  in  the  original.  Nor  is  it  necessary  to 
expatiate  qn  the  manner  in  which,  after  trans- 
ferring Gawain's  temptation  to  Parsifal,  he  has 
expanded  and  ennobled  the  scene.  These  dra- 
matic pictures  speak  for  themselves.  How  much, 
too,  has  the  poet  composer  deepened  the  char- 
acter of  Kundry  by  slightly  changing  an  old 
legend,  according  to  which  she  was  the  daughter 
of  Herodias,  cursed  for  having  laughed  at  the 
head  of  John  the  Baptist  on  a  charger.  Wagner 
makes  her  a  woman  who  laughed  at  Christ  bear- 
ing the  cross.  Thenceforward,  smitten  by  His 
glance,  she  is  cursed  with  laughter,  and  wanders 
through  the  world  in  search  of  her  Redeemer. 
After  Parsifal  has  conquered  Klingsor  and  dis- 
enchanted his  castle,  Kundry,  who  has  hitherto 
known  a  divided  service,  seeks  to  become  a  vas- 
sal of  the  Grail.  On  meeting  Parsifal  again, 
this  laughter-cursed  woman  weeps,  and  straight- 
way he  baptizes  her  and  she  is  redeemed.  Wol- 
zogen  points  out  that  the  union  in  Kundry's  nat- 
ure of  hostile  and  helpful  traits  has  its  origin  in 
the  Germanic  Walkiire  myths,  and  that  Wagner 


THE  BOOK  OF   "PARSIFAL."  103 

has  preserved  it  for  dramatic  purposes.  The  re- 
sult is  a  picture  of  emotional  struggle  such  as 
cannot  be  surpassed  in  the  entire  literature  of 
the  stage.  Her  evil  master,  Klingsor,  is  the 
"  nameless  enemy  of  the  Grail,"  the  chief  of  the 
powers  of  darkness.  He  has  been  confounded 
with  Klingesor  von  Ungerland,  the  minnesinger. 
That  this  is  a  mistake  is  shown  by  the  fact  that 
the  latter  was  a  contemporary  of  Wolfram  and 
contended  against  him  in  song  at  the  Wartburg 
in  1204.  The  characters  of  Trevrecent,  the  holy 
hermit,  and  Gurnemanz,  the  aged  servitor  of  the 
Grail  and  instructor  in  chivalry,  are  effectively 
moulded  into  one  by  Wagner  under  the  name  of 
the  second. 

Amfortas  is  said  to  have  a  double  symbolism. 
He  is  the  personification  of  that  suffering  through 
sin  which  has  penetrated  even  the  sacred  com- 
munity of  the  Knights  of  the  Grail.  All  the 
commentators  say  that  he  also  typifies  the  suf- 
ferings of  Christ.  Perhaps  this  was  Wagner's 
intention,  but  to  the  writer's  mind  Amfortas 
more  beautifully  symbolizes  the  misery  brought 
upon  mankind  through  yielding  to  the  lusts  of 
the  flesh,  for  it  is  Parsifal  who  represents  the 
Redeemer  throughout  the  drama.  He  repre- 
sents Him  when  he  is  anointed  by  Gurnemanz, 
when  his  feet  are  washed  by  the  repentant  Kun- 


1 04  WA  GNERIA  NA . 

dry,  and  when  he  baptizes  her  in  that  sublime 
scene  which  only  a  God-gifted  genius  could  have 
dared  to  place  upon  the  modern  stage.  But 
more  than  all,  He  surely  is  the  Redeemer  when 
He  touches  Amfortas  with  the  holy  spear  and 
bids  him 

Be  whole,  forgiven,  and  absolved. 

After  quoting  Voltaire's  lament  that  the  em- 
pire of  reason  was  driving  "  the  airy  reign  of 
fancy  far  away  from  the  earth,"  Lord  Wood- 
houselee  said  :  "  It  will  require  a  genius  of  very 
remarkable  order  ever  to  revive  among  the  pol- 
ished nations  of  Europe  a  fervid  taste  for  the  ro- 
mance of  literature."  Lord  Woodhouselee  died 
in  the  year  in  which  Wagner  was  born.  He  could 
not  foresee  the  wonderful  use  to  which  Wagner 
was  to  put  the  forgotten  lays  of  Robert  de  Bor- 
ron,  Chretien  de  Troyes,  and  Wolfram  von  Es- 
chenbach.  Johannes  Scherr  calls  Wolfram's 
"  Parzival "  the  first  great  work  of  German 
idealism,  and  Vilmar  classes  it  as  a  psychological 
epic  by  the  side  of  Goethe's  "  Faust."  If  these 
estimates  are  just,  where  are  we  to  place  "  Parsi- 
fal," the  inspired  dramatic  "  Te  Deum  "  of  Rich- 
ard Warner  ? 


II. — A  Study  in  "Tristan." 

After  a  very  impressive  performance  of 
Wagner's  "  Tristan  and  Isolde,"  as  the  curtain 
was  slowly  descending  before  the  dead  bodies 
of  the  Princess,  her  knightly  lover,  and  the 
faithful  esquire,  a  young  lady,  well  clad,  and 
bearing  evidence  in  her  face  of  having  been 
reared  within  the  confines  of  civilization,  arose 
to  depart,  saying  :  "  Isn't  it  silly  !  " 

If  she  had  asserted  that  it  was  tiresome,  one 
might  have  set  her  down  as  of  the  number  who 
prefer  the  sprightly  fancies  of  Charles  H.  Hoyt  to 
the  masterful  creations  of  William  Shakespeare, 
and,  while  admitting  the  possibility  of  a  basis  for 
her  judgment,  have  silently  condoled  with  her 
lack  of  aspiration.  If  she  had  declared  that  it 
was  immoral,  one  might  have  agreed  with  her 
very  heartily,  and  taken  the  comfortable  ground 
so  judiciously  staked  out  and  claimed  by  learned 
commentators,  that  we  are  not  under  the  neces- 
sity of  discussing  the  morals  of  a  tragedy  in 
order  to  estimate  its  value  as  an  art  work. 


106  WAGNERIANA. 

But  to  hold  that  "  Tristan  and  Isolde,"  or  its 
fateful  termination,  is  "silly,"  is  assuming  a 
position  which  is  tolerable  to  neither  gods  nor 
men.  The  most  adroit  and  well-equipped  op- 
ponent of  Wagner's  ideas  could  not  demon- 
strate that  proposition  without  resorting  to  that 
impregnable  logic  which  is  doubtless  the  famil- 
iar weapon  of  the  proponent,  and  which  sums 
up  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  in  one  word — 
"  because." 

Fortunately,  the  value  of  "  Tristan  and 
Isolde,"  literary,  dramatic,  tragic,  musical, 
moral  or  immoral,  is  not  a  matter  for  such  easy 
decision.  The  extreme  Wagnerites,  whose  self- 
contentment  is  enviable,  have  already  decided 
that  this  is  Wagner's  greatest  work,  and  that  it 
must  live  even  if  the  others  should  chance  to 
perish.  The  Italianissimi  believe  in  their  souls 
— if  they  can  ever  find  them  without  the  aid  of 
a  microscope — that  this  is  Wagner's  most  fiend- 
ish invention,  and  that  it,  sooner  than  anything 
else  he  wrote,  must  give  way  to  a  restoration  to 
the  musical  throne  of  those  royal  tramps,  "  Sem- 
iramide  "  and  "  Lucrezia  Borgia."  To  those  not 
interested  in  the  discussion  of  dramatico-musi- 
cal  art  the  heat  of  partisanship  so  constantly 
displayed  must  be  somewhat  tiresome  as  well 
as  surprising.     Thoughtful  persons  will  wonder 


A    STUDY  IN  "TRISTAN."  IOJ 

why  music  lovers  cannot  seek  for  that  which  is 
true,  beautiful,  and  good  in  their  art  without  wax- 
ing angry  in  the  search  ;  and  those  of  less  con- 
siderate mood  will  inevitably  quote  the  familiar 
lines  written  for  such  occasions  : 

Strange  all  this  difference  should  be 
'Twixt  tweedle-dum  and  tweedle-dee. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  at  present  to  discuss 
"  Tristan  and  Isolde  "  in  its  entirety.  This  tre- 
mendous tragedy  would  furnish  material  for 
a  volume,  for  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  an 
art  work  produced  by  a  master  genius  in  such  a 
lofty  and  continued  state  of  enthusiasm,  devo- 
tion, and  self-abandonment.  The  life-blood  of 
Richard  Wagner's  genius  was  called  upon  to 
shed  its  brightest  drops  for  this  achievement. 
The  man  made  unparalleled  demands  upon  him- 
self and  met  them  with  unsurpassed  efforts. 
He  threw  aside  completely  and  forever  every 
prop  and  stay  of  tradition,  and  launched  him- 
self upon  the  fathomless  sea  of  his  own  origi- 
nality, caring  not  whether  he  swam  or  sank,  but 
ready  to  follow  the  needle  of  his  theoretic  com- 
pass toward  the  new  country  to  which  he  be- 
lieved it  pointed.  He  tells  us  that  in  the  com- 
position of  this  work  he  went  far  beyond  his 
theories:  but  after  all  he  went  only  whither  they 


108  WAGNER1ANA. 

led  him.  It  is  given  to  very  few  men  to  see  the 
ultimate,  logical  outcome  of  a  theory,  whether 
it  be  of  medicine,  of  art,  or  of  conduct.  It  is 
safe  to  say  that  Richard  Wagner,  toiling  over 
the  score  of  "  Lohengrin,"  never  had  a  perfect 
vision  of  the  "Tristan  "  that  was  to  be.  And  I 
may  be  forgiven  for  indulging  in  the  belief  that 
Wagner,  penning  the  inspired  pages  of  "  Die 
Gotterdammerung,"  made  some  allowance  for 
the  variation  of  that  theoretic  compass  which  in 
"  Tristan  "  carried  him  out  of  the  true  course. 

The  dramatic  weakness  of  "  Tristan  and 
Isolde"  is  to  be  found  in  its  second  act.  Ac- 
cording to  Quintilian,  it  was  the  custom  of  the 
Greek  and  Roman  masters  of  oratory  to  begin 
with  an  exordium,  then  advance  their  argu- 
ments with  the  weakest  in  the  middle,  and  close 
with  a  forcible  peroration.  "  Tristan  and 
Isolde  "  is  built  on  a  plan  resembling  this,  for 
its  weakest  dramatic  argument  is  in  the  middle 
— the  second  act.  But  the  purposes  of  the  ora- 
tor and  of  the  dramatist  are  so  dissimilar  that 
the  plans  and  forms  of  the  one  will  not  fill  the 
requirements  of  the  other.  A  successful  trage- 
dy begins  with  Fate  pointing  her  inexorable 
finger  at  an  inevitable  doom,  and  thencefor- 
ward all  incidents  in  the  drama  hurry  the  hero 
and   heroine  toward    the   catastrophe.     At   the 


A    STUDY  IN  "TRISTAN."  IO9 

first  glance  it  seems  as  if  there  were  no  tragedy 
which  could  answer  this  demand  with  more 
startling  completeness  than  "  Tristan  and 
Isolde."  So  far  as  its  incidents  are  concerned 
this  is  true.  But  there  must  be  no  turning 
aside  from  the  onward  movement  of  the  events, 
no  consideration  of  secondary  matters ;  and 
this  requirement  is  not  met  in  "  Tristan  and 
Isolde." 

Mr.  Krehbiel,  who  is  one  of  the  discriminating 
lovers  of  the  great  German  master,  has  pointed 
out  the  defect  of  the  second  act  of  this  tragedy. 
He  has  said  that  the  long  passages  of  word-play 
and  metaphysical  hair-splitting  (these  are  not  his 
words)  about  night  and  day,  and  love  and  obliv- 
ion, are  poor  dramatic  material,  and  that  half 
an  hour  of  this  sort  of  thing  is  too  much.  This 
is  undeniably  true.  But  the  critic  might  have 
gone  further  and  said,  that  Wagner  turned 
aside  from  the  straightforward  development  of 
his  plot  to  put  into  the  mouths  of  his  leading 
personages  philosophical  utterances  whose  un- 
derlying ideas  are  not  essential  elements  of 
the  passion  called  love.  Mr.  Krehbiel  has  said 
that  the  poet-composer  here  endeavored  to  lay 
bare  to  us  the  workings  of  the  hearts  of  his 
characters.  But  speculations  in  pessimistic 
philosophy,  while  they  may  be  in  touch   with 


IIO  WAGNERIANA. 

the  spirit  of  gloom  which  pervades  a  tragedy, 
are  not  likely  to  be  the  accompaniments  of  a 
love  scene,  except  in  a  state  of  cultivated  civil- 
ization so  artificial  as  to  be  unimaginable  any- 
where outside  of  Boston  or  the  famous  Con- 
cord School.  Beyond  doubt  Swinburne  made 
his  Iseult  reach  the  kernel  of  the  situation 
when  she  checked  Tristan's  scholastic  wooing 
with  the  lines  quoted  by  Mr.  Krehbiel : 

I  have  heard  men  sing  of  love  a  simpler  way 
Than  these  wrought  riddles  made  of  night  and  day. 

In  an  article  published  in  Scribner's  Maga- 
zine, W.  F.  Apthorp  undertook  to  show  the 
metaphysical  influences  which  governed  Wag- 
ner in  his  development  of  the  scheme  of  a  mu- 
sic-drama to  be  called  "  Siegfried's  Tod,''  but 
which  finally  became  the  great  Trilogy.  These 
influences  were  found  in  the  pessimistic  philos- 
ophy of  Arthur  Schopenhauer,  and  are  those 
which  operated  upon  Wagner's  mind  in  the  con- 
struction of  "  Tristan  and  Isolde."  Schopen- 
hauer's ethics  demand  sympathy  for  suffering, 
but  above  all  else  a  mortification  through  ascet- 
icism of  the  will  to  live.  Our  world,  according 
to  this  philosopher,  is  the  very  worst  kind  of  a 
world,  and  the  oblivious  night  of  non-existence 


A    STUDY  IN  "  TRISTAN."  Ill 

is  far  preferable.  Sympathy  softens  suffering; 
asceticism  destroys  it  by  annihilating  the  will 
to  live.  This  is  a  complete  negation  of  the 
sensuous  nature  of  man,  and  bears  a  strong  re- 
semblance to  the  Buddhistic  doctrine  of  Nir- 
vana— the  final  state  of  saints  made  pure  by 
asceticism,  and  translated  into  celestial  uncon- 
sciousness. The  negation  of  the  sensuous  nat- 
ure of  man  for  some  reason  does  not  appear 
to  be  successfully  accomplished  by  Tristan  or 
Isolde,  except  in  the  latters  death,  which,  like 
the  magnificent  suicide  of  Brunnhilde,  takes 
place  when  she  has  nothing  more  to  live  for. 

This  pessimistic  philosophy,  dragged  into  the 
love  scene  by  the  neck  as  it  is,  will  not  do  Wag- 
ner's bidding.  For  hearken  to  the  prayer  of 
the  lovers  after  their  long-drawn  discussion  of 
the  evils  of  day  and  glories  of  night : 

O  sink'  hernieder 
Nacht  der  Liebe  ; 
gieb  vergessen 
dass  ich  lebe. 

Which  means,  "  Oh,  sink  down  hither,  night  of 
love,  and  grant  me  to  forget  that  I  live."  If 
anyone  can  reconcile  a  wish  to  forget  that  he  is 
alive  with  the  presence  in  his  soul  of  a  tumult- 
uous passion  of  love,  stronger  than  honor,  duty, 


112  WAGNERIANA. 

and  friendship,  let  him  do  so.  It  is  only  the 
overwhelming  sense  of  guilt,  the  unutterable  re- 
morse following  such  love  that  can  bring  about 
a  full  and  perfect  negation  of  the  will  to  live. 
The  difficulty  is  that  Arthur  Schopenhauer's 
philosophy,  as  set  forth  in  his  principal  book, 
"  Die  Welt  als  Wille  und  Vorstellung,"  is  a  sub- 
jective idealism,  beginning  with  the  proposition 
"the  world  is  my  notion,"  and  proceeding 
thence  to  the  construction  of  a  system  tolerat- 
ing no  realism,  not  even  that  of  a  man's  own 
body,  which  it  regards  as  nothing  but  the  will 
objectified — the  will  become  notion  or  represen- 
tation. The  absolute  incompatibility  of  such  a 
system  of  philosophy  with  a  love  like  that  of 
Tristan  and  Mark's  queen  is  not  hard  to  com- 
prehend. 

Nor  is  it  difficult  to  discern  that  feature  of 
Schopenhauer's  philosophy  which  gave  the 
whole  an  especial  importance  and  favor  in 
Wagner's  esteem.  In  Book  III.  of  the  work 
above  mentioned  the  metaphysician  sets  forth 
a  theory  of  art.  Shorn  of  its  philosophical  ter- 
minology, and  presented  as  plainly  as  possible, 
it  is  this  :  When  the  human  mind  rises  from  the 
study  of  the  location,  period,  causes,  and  ten- 
dencies of  things  to  the  undivided  examination 
of  their  essence,  and  when,  further,  this  consid- 


A    STUD  Y  W  "  TRISTAN'.  "  1 1 3 

eration  takes  place,  not  through  the  medium  of 
abstract  thought,  but  in  calm  contemplation  of 
the  immediately  present  natural  object,  then 
the  mind  is  brought  face  to  face  with  eternal 
Ideas.  Art,  the  work  of  genius,  repeats  these 
eternal  Ideas,  which  are  the  essential  and  per- 
manent things  in  the  phenomena  of  the  world. 
In  other  words,  art  endeavors  to  exhibit  to  us 
the  eternal  essence  of  things  by  means  of  proto- 
types. And  here  we  come  upon  the  one  feature 
of  Schopenhauer's  system  which  Wagner  suc- 
cessfully used.  His  greatest  characters  stand 
for  the  universal,  primeval,  and  eternal  essence 
of  manhood  and  womanhood,  uncultivated,  un- 
civilized, unhampered.  It  is  this  which  takes 
hold  upon  our  hearts,  which  thrills  and  renews 
us,  which  fills  us  full  to  the  lips  with  the  enthu- 
siasm of  deathless  youth. 

And  it  is  because  Tristan  and  Isolde  are  two 
fundamental  universal  types,  representing  to  us 
the  unartificial  man  and  woman,  acting  under 
the  influence  of  a  purely  natural  and  unrestrained 
passion,  that  we  are  vexed  and  disappointed  at 
their  long-winded  word-splitting.  You  will  find 
no  such  blunder  in  the  great  love-duet  of  Sieg- 
mund  and  Sieglinde,  in  "  Die  Walkure."  No 
sooner  has  Sieglinde  told  the  story  of  the  sword 
in  the  tree,  and  expressed  her  longing  for  the 
8 


114  IV A  GNERIA  NA . 

defender  who  should  draw  it  forth,  than  Sieg- 
mund  snatches  her  to  his  bosom  and  cries  : 

He  holds  thee  fast, 

That  friend  for  whom 
Were  weapon  and  wife  appointed  ! 

Deep  in  my  bosom 

Burns  brightly  the  oath 
That  binds  me  forever  to  thee. 

After  he  has  continued  in  a  similar  strain  for 
a  few  lines  the  curtain  falls,  the  moonlight 
streams  into  the  hall,  Siegmund  leads  Sieglinde 
to  a  seat,  and  sings  to  her  that  most  marvellous 
of  all  love's  lullabies,  beginning : 

Winter  storms  have  waned 
'Fore  the  storms  of  May  ; 
In  wondrous  splendor 
Wakens  the  spring. 

No  poet  that  ever  lived  sang  a  love-song  with 
more  unerring  instinct.  Again,  in  "  Siegfried," 
when  the  young  hero  comes  at  last  to  the  fire- 
girt  Valkyr's  rock-hewn  bed-chamber,  he  dallies 
with  no  philosophical  distinctions,  but  speaks 
out  straight  and  true  like  a  man : 


On  rapturous  lips 
My  eyes  look  for  pasture  ; 
With  fathomless  thirst 
My  mouth  is  on  fire. 


A   STUDY  IN  "TRISTAN."  1 1  5 

Not  Swinburne,  nor  Baudelaire,  nor  Francois 
Villon,  nor  all  the  "  sad,  bad,  mad,  glad  "  broth- 
ers who  have  made  love  their  life  study,  could 
have  written  with  more  certain  note.  It  is, 
then,  because  these  characters  just  named  do 
not  smother  love  in  philosophy,  but  treat  it  as 
a  plain,  unadulterated  condition  of  the  heart, 
which  has  always  persistently  refused  to  be 
guided  or  influenced  by  reason,  that  they  seem 
to  us  to  come  nearer  to  being  those  funda- 
mental types  for  which  Wagner  wisely  sought. 
When  you  get  right  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
matter,  the  philosophizing  of  Tristan  and  his 
lady  love  is  almost  as  absurd  as  King  Mark's 
sermonizing  after  the  discovery  of  their  guilt. 

The  late  John  McCullough  is  credited  with 
saying  that  Hamlet  was  the  one  part  in  which 
any  good  actor  could  make  a  hit  if  he  would 
only  attend  to  the  stage  "  business  "  and  let  the 
metaphysics  alone.  Love  is  a  good  deal  like 
Hamlet.  The  metaphysics  may  be  left  for  the 
reflections  of  one's  hours  of  solitude.  In  active 
practice  the  "  business  "  must  absorb  one's  entire 
attention. 


III.— The  Endurance  of  Wagner's  Works. 

It  is  frequently  asserted  by  those  who  are  not 
in  accord  with  Wagner's  ideas  of  dramatic  music 
that  his  works  are  simply  sensations  of  the  day, 
and  that  after  a  time  this  temporary  craze  will 
pass  by  and  the  world  will  return  to  its  old  love 
of  Neapolitan  opera.  I  am  not  prepared  to  as- 
sert that  the  world  will  not  tire  of  Wagner.  The 
constant  endeavor  of  blind  partisans  to  convince 
music-lovers  that  he  is  the  only  composer  worth 
hearing,  and  that  Bach,  Mozart,  and  Beethoven 
are  antiquated  and  uninteresting,  is  enough  to 
make  the  world  turn  against  the  Bayreuth  ge- 
nius. But  it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  room 
enough  in  the  affection  of  the  human  race  for  all 
that  is  good  in  music,  and  while  I  fail  to  see  any 
disposition  to  forget  Wagner's  mighty  predeces- 
sors, I  am  equally  unable  to  perceive  any  evi- 
dence that  the  world  regards  his  works  as  a  fancy 
of  the  moment.  They  hold  their  possession  of 
the  stage  very  firmly  and  are  being  performed  in 
more  places  now  than  ever  before.     As  a  proof 


ENDURANCE  OF  WAGNER'S  WORKS.       \\J 

that  Wagner  shows  no  signs  of  waning  in  public 
estimation  I  think  the  chronological  argument 
is  a  good  one.  It  is  a  common  mistake  to  un- 
derestimate Wagner's  early  works.  That  they 
are  really  valuable  creations  may  be  demonstrated 
in  many  ways,  but  perhaps  the  mere  fact  of  en- 
durance will  strike  the  average  thinker  as  forci- 
bly as  any  argument.  It  is  a  common  practice 
to  say  that  Mozart's  "  Don  Giovanni "  estab- 
lishes its  claim  on  immortality  by  the  firm  hold 
it  retains  on  public  affection  in  spite  of  changes 
in  taste  and  the  many  other  changes  wrought, 
as  Carlyle  has  it,  "  not  by  time,  but  in  time." 
Shakespeare's  claim  is  often  put  upon  the  same 
ground.  Well,  it  is  four  years  more  than  a  cen- 
tury since  "  Don  Giovanni"  was  first  heard,  and 
that  is  a  very  long  life  for  an  opera. 

How  long  has  "  Rienzi  "  held  the  stage  ?  The 
latter  end  of  the  present  year  will  witness  the 
forty -ninth  anniversary  of  its  production  in 
Dresden,  under  Wagner's  own  direction,  in  1842. 

But  with  most  people  "  Rienzi "  does  not 
count,  because  it  is  not  genuine  Wagner  music. 
It  was  written  before  his  regeneration.  Then 
let  us  peep  at  the  "  Flying  Dutchman,"  in  which 
the  Wagner  of  the  future  is  so  clearly  foreshad- 
owed in  leit  motives,  overture  form,  declama- 
tion, instrumentation,  and  distribution  of  scenic 


1 1 8  WA  G NEK  I  A  NA . 

music.  This  romantic  opera,  as  its  maker  called 
it,  was  produced  at  the  Royal  Opera  in  Dresden 
on  January  1 1,  1843,  with  Wechter  as  the  Dutch- 
man and  Mme.  Schroder-Devrient  as  Senta.  It 
has,  therefore,  held  the  stage  for  forty-eight 
years,  and  its  hold  appears  to  be  quite  as  firm 
now  as  at  any  time  in  the  course  of  its  existence. 

Let  us  advance  now  to  "  Tannhauser,"  which 
is  still  more  Wagnerian.  This  work  was  brought 
out  at  the  Royal  Opera  in  Dresden  on  Octo- 
ber 20,  1845,  and  has  therefore  held  the  stage 
forty-six  years  with  constantly  widening  popu- 
larity. It  is  to-day  one  of  the  standard  operas 
in  the  repertoire  of  the  best  opera-houses,  and, 
with  a  good  cast,  is  always  sure  of  a  large  audi- 
ence. And  next  we  come  to  "  Lohengrin,"  which 
may  be  regarded  as  fairly  if  not  fully  illustrating 
Wagner's  dramatic  principles.  It  was  produced 
at  Weimar,  August  28,  1850,  under  the  direction 
of  Franz  Liszt,  with  Beck  as  Lohengrin,  Milde 
as  Telramund,  Hofer  as  the  King,  Frau  Agathe 
as  Elsa,  and  Frau  Fastinger  as  Ortrud.  Its  popu- 
larity is  very  wide,  and  it  is  constantly  growing. 

Verdi's  "Nabuco"  was  produced  in  1842, 
Mendelssohn's  "  Elijah  "  in  1846,  Verdi's  "  Rigo- 
letto"  in  185 1,  and  Gounod's  "Faust"  in  1859. 
"  Nabuco  "  is  dead  to  the  world.  "  Rienzi  "  has 
held  the  stage.    Mendelssohn's  "  Elijah  "  is  known 


ENDURANCE  OF  WAGNER'S  WORKS.       1 19 

throughout  the  English  and  German-speaking 
parts  of  the  earth.  Yet  the  "  Flying  Dutchman  " 
is  three  years  older  and  "  Tannhauser"  one  year. 
No  opera  is  better  known  and  more  justly  ad- 
mired than  Gounod's  "  Faust,"  which  contains 
some  of  the  most  faithful  dramatic  music  to  be 
found  outside  of  Wagner ;  yet  "  Rienzi  "  is  sev- 
enteen years  older,  the  "  Flying  Dutchman " 
sixteen,  "Tannhauser"  fourteen,  and  "Lohen- 
grin" nine.  And  the  world  hears  at  least  two 
of  these  works  almost,  if  not  quite,  as  often  as  it 
hears  "  Faust,"  one  of  the  most  popular  operas 
ever  written. 

As  for  Wagner's  later  works,  those  in  which 
his  theories  are  more  fully  exemplified,  it  can  be 
said  that  they  have  held  the  stage  a  very  respecta- 
ble time  in  spite  of  constant  vociferations  on  the 
part  of  their  opponents  that  they  must  soon  go 
to  the  grave.  And  to-day  they  are  beginning  to 
carry  the  war  into  Africa.  "  Die  Meistersinger  " 
has  planted  itself  in  the  Italian  camp  beside 
"  Rienzi,"  the  "  Flying  Dutchman,"  "  Tann- 
hauser," and  "  Lohengrin,"  and  there  is — O  shade 
of  Chorley  ! — talk  of  "  Tristan  und  Isolde." 

This  last-named  drama,  the  extreme  illustra- 
tion of  Wagner's  beliefs,  has  held  the  stage  over 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  having  been  produced  in 
Munich,  under  the  direction  of  Dr.  von  Bulow, 


120  WAGNERIANA. 

on  June  10,  1865,  with  the  following  cast :  Tris- 
tan, Ludwig  Schnorr  von  Carolsfeld  ;  Kurvenal, 
Mitterwurzer ;  King  Mark,  Zottmayer;  Isolde, 
Mme.  Schnorr  von  Carolsfeld;  Brangane,  Mile. 
Deinet.  "Die  Meistersinger"  has  been  before 
the  public  with  increasing  favor  since  June  21, 
1868,  when  it  was  brought  out  at  Munich  under 
Von  Biilow.  And  as  for  the  Nibelung  tetral- 
ogy, the  crowning  glory  of  the  lyric  stage,  that 
operatic  thing  which  makes  the  anti-Wagnerites 
shudder,  even  that  has  clung  to  existence  for 
fifteen  years,  and  is  growing  stronger  and  more 
healthy  every  year. 

The  number  of  operas  older  than  Wagner's 
early  works  and  still  performed  is  surprisingly 
small  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  and  the 
number  preserving  a  wide  popularity  is  smaller 
still.  Without  taking  the  trouble  to  count  them, 
one  may  hazard  the  guess  that  there  are  not 
more  than  twenty-five,  and  of  these  several,  like 
"  Lucia,"  "  Semiramide,"  and  "  Norma,"  are  only 
given  in  serious  artistic  communities  for  the  pur- 
pose of  exploiting  the  special  abilities  of  some 
great  vocalist.  It  seems  fair  to  expect,  then,  as 
Wagner's  earlier  works  have  kept  their  hold  so 
firmly,  that  his  later  ones  will  not  fail  to  do  so. 
Let  us  remember  that  this  very  "  Lohengrin," 
which  is  so  melodious  and  so  popular,  was  writ- 


ENDURANCE  OF  WAGNER'S  WORKS.       121 

ten  at  a  time  when  Wagner's  mind  was  full  of 
his  theories,  for  "  Opera  and  Drama,"  as  Mr. 
Matthews  cleverly  notes  in  one  of  his  books, 
was  published  in  185 1,  and  the  two  works  "  may 
well  enough  be  accepted  as  mutually  explana- 
tory." 

This  point  is  worthy  of  note,  because  it  is  not 
an  uncommon  mistake  for  lovers  of  the  great 
master  to  suppose  that  his  earlier  works  do  not 
illustrate  his  ideas.  Even  in  "  Rienzi "  the  in- 
dividuality of  the  man  may  be  discovered.  It 
is  well  known  that  this  work  was  written  partly 
at  Meyerbeer,  whose  influence  Wagner  hoped 
would  secure  a  performance  of  it  at  the  Paris 
Grand  Opera.  As  Mr.  Matthews  justly  says, 
Wagner  might  have  met  with  more  success  if  he 
had  not  alarmed  Meyerbeer  with  a  prospect  of 
successful  rivalry.  In  this  very  work,  written 
for  the  purpose  of  gaining  an  entrance  where 
Meyerbeer  and  Rossini  were  the  rulers,  the  in- 
dividuality of  Wagner  is  at  times  apparent.  Mr. 
Matthews  has  already  mentioned  the  evidences 
of  it,  and  we  quote  his  words:  "The  recitative 
is  largely  arioso,  there  are  long  passages  of  solil- 
oquy or  speech-making,  and  the  harmony  has 
that  mysterious  coherence  peculiar  to  Wagner's 
manner  of  associating  chords.  Italian  as  it  is, 
'  Rienzi '   could    only    have    been    written    by 


122  IV A  GNERJA  NA . 

Wagner,  and  by  him  only  at  a  time  when,  as 
yet,  he  was  feeling  after  the  style  which  later  he 
completely  attained." 

In  "  The  Flying  Dutchman,"  however,  Wag- 
ner had  done  with  Italianism  forever.  There  is 
not  a  solitary  measure  in  the  work  that  reminds 
one  of  the  Italian  stage.  Even  the  brisk  little 
march  at  the  end  of  the  first  act  is  German.  In 
this  work  the  future  Wagner  is  promised.  We 
meet  with  the  powerful  declamatory  arioso  style, 
the  intimate  association  of  musical  phrases  with 
the  ideas  of  the  drama,  the  coherent  and  well- 
fashioned  book,  the  mythical  personages,  the 
marvellous  instrumentation — in  short,  the  entire 
apparatus  of  "  Der  Ring  des  Nibelungen  "  is 
here  in  embryo,  and  in  the  music-dramas  which 
were  written  after  it  an  observant  person  can 
very  easily  trace  the  development  of  Wagner's 
ideas. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 


I.— Laying  the  Foundations. 

If  any  music  lover  desires  to  take  up  one  of 
the  most  fascinating  departments  of  the  history 
of  the  art,  let  him  enter  upon  the  study  of  the 
evolution  of  piano  music.  He  will  find  some 
difficulty  in  the  lack  of  good  works  treating  of 
the  early  writers.  The  best,  however,  is  Weitz- 
mann's  "  Geschichte  des  Clavierspiels  und  der 
Clavierliteratur."  Why  it  has  not  been  trans- 
lated I  am  unable  to  say.  It  certainly  ought  to 
be.  The  facts  in  the  following  story  of  the  be- 
ginnings of  piano  music  as  far  as  Paradies  are 
given  wholly  on  Weitzmann's  authority,  except 
where  otherwise  stated. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth  century 
flourished  the  celebrated  organists  of  the  Church 
of  San  Marco  at  Venice,  and  thither  went  great 
numbers  of  students  and  famous  musicians  from 


126      THE   EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO   MUSIC. 

all  parts  of  Europe.  As  far  back  as  1364  we  find 
that  Francesco  Landini,  a  blind  poet  and  or- 
ganist, was  in  high  repute.  But  the  first  great 
light  of  this  Venetian  school  was  Adrian  Willaert, 
born  in  1480  at  Bruges.  It  appears,  according 
to  Weitzmann,  that  he  did  not  escape  the  fate 
of  modern  pianists.  He  had  to  teach  young 
ladies  who  wished  to  learn  the  fashionable  in- 
strument of  the  time,  the  monochord.  In  1529 
Elena,  daughter  of  the  poet  Pietro  Bimbo,  wrote 
to  her  father  for  permission  to  learn  to  play. 
His  reply  is  happily  preserved.     He  says  : 

"  As  regards  your  request  to  be  permitted  to  learn  to 
play  the  monochord,  I  reply  that  because  of  your  tender 
age  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  know  that  such  playing  is 
fit  only  for  vain  and  frivolous  women.  I,  however,  de- 
sire that  you  shall  be  the  most  amiable  and  the  purest 
girl  on  earth.  Moreover,  it  would  give  you  little  pleas- 
ure or  fame  to  play  ill ;  but,  in  order  to  play  well,  you 
would  have  to  spend  from  ten  to  twelve  years  in  prac- 
tice without  having  time  for  anything  else.  Now,  con- 
sider whether  this  would  be  worth  while.  If  your  young 
friends  desire  you  to  learn  to  play  in  order  to  give  them 
pleasure,  say  that  you  do  not  wish  to  make  yourself 
ridiculous  before  them,  and  be  content  with  your  scien- 
tific studies  and  your  fancy-work." 

To  Willaert  is  due  the  first  movement  of  music 
toward  freedom  from  the  old  ecclesiastical  modes, 


LAYING    THE  FOUNDATIONS.  \2"J 

and  his  pupil,  Cypriano  di  Rore,  went  far  for- 
ward in  the  study  of  chromatic  music,  publish- 
ing in  1544  his  "Chromatic  Madrigals."  Wil- 
laert's  fantasias  and  ricercari  are  for  the  most 
part  founded  on  original  themes.  In  his  strict- 
ly contrapuntal  music,  however,  he  follows  the 
custom  of  his  predecessors  and  uses  the  canti 
fermi  of  the  church.  In  his  treatment  he  em- 
ploys the  dominant,  sub-dominant,  and  octave, 
and  makes  much  use  of  imitation.  Willaert's 
successors,  previously  mentioned,  all  followed 
his  free  style,  and  to  their  united  labors  we  owe 
the  gradual  liberation  of  instrumental  music  from 
the  vocal-ecclesiastical  style.  The  first  instru- 
mental form  to  be  clearly  established  was  the 
toccata,  which,  with  its  quick  passages,  was  de- 
signed for  the  speedily  vanishing  tones  of  the 
clavichord.  The  first  of  these  compositions  to 
be  printed  were  those  of  Claudio  Merulo,  a 
Venetian  organist,  published  at  Rome  in  1598, 
under  the  title  of  "  Toccate  d'  Intavolature 
d'  Organo."  The  title,  of  course,  implies  that 
they  were  designed  especially  for  the  organ.  At 
that  time  there  was  no  distinct  clavichord  style, 
however,  and  compositions  for  the  organ  and 
piano  of  the  period  were  pretty  much  alike  in 
treatment. 

In  Merulo's  toccatas  we  find  some  connection 


128      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

between  the  figured  passages,  and  there  is  good 
contrast  between  the  melodic  portions  and  the 
passage  work.  Dr.  Philip  Spitta,  in  his  great 
"  Life  of  Bach,"  says  that  Merulo  found  in  the 
toccata  "  a  kind  of  composition  in  which  he  en- 
deavored to  give  full  play  to  the  wealth  of  tone 
possessed  by  the  organ  by  alternating  combina- 
tions of  brilliant  running  passages  with  sostenuto 
sequences  of  harmonies."  The  canzona  and 
sonata  (of  that  period)  were  developed  by  Andrea 
and  Giovanni  Gabrielli.  In  their  works  the 
melody  became  more  important.  In  Giovanni's 
canzone  we  meet  with  interesting  forms,  with  es- 
sentially melodic  subjects  always  forming  their 
foundations,  and  with  subject  and  counter-sub- 
ject regularly  alternating.  The  fugue,  which  has 
become  so  important  a  study,  was  originally  an 
imitation  of  the  voices  in  vocal  music.  Zarlino 
christened  it  canon  because  it  followed  a  canon, 
or  fixed  law.  The  entrance  into  music  of  the 
folk-song  at  the  time  of  the  Renaissance  caused 
a  richer  development  of  these  old  studies.  The 
instrumental  writers  began  to  take  up  the  dance 
forms  of  the  people  and  to  write  courantes, 
chaconnes,  galliards,  etc.  These  compositions 
were  received  with  favor.  Subsequently  the 
giga  was  added,  and  a  set  of  these  dances  was 
called  a  suite  or  partita. 


LAYING   THE  FOUNDATIONS.  1 29 

At  first,  instrumental  music  was  simply  a 
doubling  of  voice  parts  for  the  purpose  of  ac- 
companiment. Then  compositions  were  written 
to  be  played  or  sung.  Consequently  we  find 
that  in  1547  came  the  first  publication,  that  of 
Jacob  Buus's  "  Ricercari  da  cantare  e  sonare." 
Two  years  later  Willaert's  fantasies  for  three 
voices  (vocal  or  instrumental)  were  printed,  and 
in  155 1  was  issued  the  "  Intabulatura  nova  di 
varie  sorte  di  balli  da  sonare  per  Arpichordo, 
Clavicembalo,  Spinetti  e  Manachordi,"  by  vari- 
ous authors.  The  upper  voice  of  the  dances  in 
this  collection  is  supported  by  a  simple  harmony 
in  chords.  In  later  works  the  accompaniment 
is  worked  out  in  a  much  more  interesting  man- 
ner. These  dances,  too,  were  written  in  the 
church  modes,  and  have  a  very  dry  and  eccle- 
siastical air  about  them,  as  if  they  belonged  to 
some  ancient  religious  ritual,  which,  indeed,  all 
dances  originally  did. 

It  was  in  Venice  that  the  first  systematic 
organ  and  piano  method  appeared.  It  was 
written  by  Girolamo  di  Ruta  and  was  called 
"  Prima  parte  del  Transilvano,  dialogo  sopra 
il  vero  moro  di  sonar'  organo  ed  instrumenti 
da  penna "  (1593).  The  second  part  appeared 
in  1609.  "Transilvano"  refers  to  the  Prince 
to  whom  it  was  dedicated.  Di  Ruta's  work 
9 


130      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

teaches  the  keyboard,  shows  the  position  of  the 
hand  and  use  of  the  fingers,  explains  the  score, 
and  illustrates  the  necessity  of  his  rules  by  toc- 
catas original  and  selected.  In  the  second  part 
he  tells  how  to  write  a  song,  gives  suggestions 
for  improvising,  with  examples,  treats  of  the 
church  tones  and  the  accompaniment  of  cho- 
rals, and  gives  some  suggestions  about  singing. 
Weitzmann,  however,  gets  a  good  deal  better 
information  about  fingering  as  it  existed  at  that 
time,  and  for  a  century  later,  from  a  book  which 
was  published  at  Bologna  in  1656,  and  reached 
its  fifth  edition  at  Antwerp  in  1690.  It  was 
written  by  Lorenzo  Penna,  organist,  and  its  title 
is  "  Li  Primi  Albori  Musicali."  In  it  he  lays 
down  the  following  rules : 

In  ascending,  the  fingers  of  the  right  hand 
move  one  after  the  other — first  the  middle,  then 
the  ring  finger,  again  the  middle,  and  so  on  in 
alternation.  Care  must  be  taken  that  the  fingers 
do  not  strike  against  one  another.  In  descend- 
ing, the  middle,  followed  by  the  index  finger,  is 
used.  The  left  hand  simply  reverses  this  pro- 
cess. The  rule  for  the  position  of  the  hands  is 
that  they  shall  never  lie  lower  than  the  fingers, 
but  shall  be  held  high,  with  the  fingers  stretched 
out. 

In  the  following   century,   which    brings    us 


LAYING   THE  FOUNDATIONS. 


131 


into  the  days  of  Handel  and  Bach,  the  fingering 
is  no  more  rational.  There  is  an  old  work  by  J. 
F.  B.  Caspar  Majers,  published  at  Nuremberg 
in  1 74 1,  and  quoted  approvingly  by  Matheson. 
He  gives  the  names  of  the  white  keys  as  c,  d,  e, 
f,  g,  a,  and  so  on  through  four  octaves.  He 
gives  the  names  of  the  black  keys  also.  In  giv- 
ing his  rules  for  fingering  he  numbers  the  thumb 
o,  the  index  finger  1,  the  middle  finger  2,  and  so 
to  the  end.  This  is  notable  as  being  similar  to 
the  system  employed  in  this  country,  where  the 
thumb  is  marked  x  and  the  index  finger  1.  In 
Germany  it  is  the  rule  to  mark  the  thumb  1,  the 
index  finger  2,  etc.  Majers's  rules  for  fingering 
are  as  follows  : 


Left 
hand 
you 
take 

Right 
hand 
you 
take 


'2ds  ascending 
2ds  descending 
3ds  and  4ths 
5ths  and  6ths 
7ths  and  8ths 

'2ds  ascending 
2ds  descending 
-  3ds  and  4ths 
5ths  and  6ths 
7ths  and  8ths     J 


with 
the 


with 
the 


index  and  thumb, 
middle  and  ring, 
ring  and  index, 
ring  and  thumb, 
little  and  thumb, 
middle  and  ring, 
middle  and  index, 
ring  and  index, 
index  and  little, 
little  and  thumb. 


A   little  experimenting  will   show  you   how 
different  these  rules  are  from  those  of  to-day. 


132      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

The  first  rational  rules  are  those  published 
by  Emanuel  Bach,  at  Berlin,  in  1753;  but 
the  great  Sebastian  Bach's  fingering  was  not 
bound  by  such  absurd  laws  as  those  of  Ma- 
jers's. 

It  is  worth  while  to  go  back  a  little  in  order 
to  study  the  development  of  the  harpsichord 
style  in  Rome,  where  we  first  meet  with  the 
works  of  Girolamo  Frescobaldi  (1 591 -1640). 
He  was  a  great  organist,  and  in  all  of  his  com- 
positions we  find  fugal  writing,  but  his  ricercari 
show  development  of  a  fixed  subject,  while  his 
canzone  contain  bits  of  choral  -  like  melody. 
The  principal  melody  of  the  canzona  is  always 
recognizable.  Again,  his  capriccii  differ  mate- 
rially from  those  of  his  predecessors.  The  ca- 
priccio  before  his  time  consisted  of  a  movement 
in  common  time  in  which  different  themes  were 
developed,  followed  by  a  second  movement  in 
triple  time,  shorter  and  in  the  dance  style.  A 
new  movement  of  fugal  character  acted  as  coda 
to  the  entire  composition.  The  capriccii  of 
Frescobaldi  are  always  based  on  a  peculiar  prel- 
ude, containing  some  striking  suggestions,  and 
here  the  composer  especially  distinguishes  him- 
self by  the  wealth  of  his  inventive  power  and 
by  his  treatment. 

In  his  "Capriccio  di  Durezze"  are  examples 


LAYING   THE  FOUNDATIONS.  1 33 

of  intentional  harshness  of  harmony.  In  his 
"  Capriccio  Chromatico  con  Ligaturi  al  Contra- 
rio  "  there  are  passages  of  chromatic  nature  with 
ascending  resolutions,  a  piece  of  daring  new  at 
that  time.  His  contemporaries  always  used 
the  church  scales  ;  but  he  made  attempts  tow- 
ard approaching  our  present  keys  by  use  of  the 
leading  tone.  He  was  also  the  first  who  tried 
to  write  music  that  could  be  easily  read.  He 
published  in  1615,  at  Rome,  "  Toccate  e  partite 
d'  intabulatura  di  cembalo."  In  this  the  notes 
for  the  right  hand  were  written  on  six,  and 
those  for  the  left  on  eight  lines. 

Bernardo  Pasquini,  born  1637,  died  17 10,  was 
one  of  the  great  lights  of  the  Roman  school  in 
the  latter  half  of  the  seventeenth  century.  In 
the  few  of  his  compositions  which  have  been 
printed  there  is  shown  a  tendency  to  leave  the 
former  strict  style  and  to  adopt  a  manner  clearer 
than  that  of  Frescobaldi.  His  toccatas  are  no 
longer  contrapuntally  written  for  four  voices. 
We  occasionally  find  arpeggios  in  the  full  chord, 
and  sometimes  an  attempt  to  disguise  and  pro- 
long the  short  tones  of  the  clavichord  by  a  sus- 
tained trill.  He  writes  flowing  passages  for  both 
hands,  and  in  his  fugues,  which  are  formed 
strictly  according  to  rule,  we  find  in  the  second 
part  some  of  the  livelier   passages  of   the  first 


134      THE   EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

introduced  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  the  com- 
position to  an  end. 

This  brings  us  to  that  point  in  the  growth  of 
the  Italian  school  from  which  the  development 
of  the  classical  forms  of  piano  music  are  dis- 
tinctly traceable.  We  have  seen  that  the  ten- 
dency of  the  school  has  been,  first,  to  escape 
from  the  fetters  of  the  ecclesiastical  modes  and 
to  acquire  the  wealth  of  chromatics ;  second,  to 
throw  off  the  shackles  of  contrapuntal  rules  and 
compose  with  freedom  of  style ;  third,  to  aban- 
don writing  for  four  voices  and  to  compose  a 
melody  with  subordinate  yet  independent  ac- 
companiment ;  fourth,  to  employ  contrasted 
movements,  and  fifth,  to  establish  the  difference 
between  the  technique  of  the  organ  and  that  of 
the  clavichord  and  harpsichord.  The  man  who 
completely  established  the  tendencies  of  the 
Italian  school  and  fully  achieved  what  his  prede- 
cessors had  attempted  was  Domenico  Scarlatti 
(1683-1757). 

Attempts  had  been  made  previous  to  his  day 
to  establish  equal  temperament,  rendering  it 
possible  to  play  in  all  the  modern  keys.  This 
end  was  attained  by  Scarlatti's  contemporaries, 
Bach  and  Rameau.  At  the  same  time  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Neapolitan  school  of  opera  com- 
posers, founded  by  Alessandro  Scarlatti,  father 


LAYING  THE  FOUNDATIONS.  1 35 

of  Domenico,  was  the  ruling  power  in  Italian 
music,  and  the  chief  merit  of  this  school  was 
the  fluency  of  its  melody.  What  could  be  more 
natural  than  Domenico's  endeavor  to  transfer 
this  melody  to  the  instrument  of  which  he  was 
master,  and  to  enrich  it  with  all  those  technical 
embellishments  in  which  he  was  an  expert  ? 
This,  then,  is  what  Domenico  Scarlatti  accom- 
plished. He  settled  for  all  time  the  dominance 
of  homophonic  music  over  polyphonic  in  com- 
positions for  the  piano.  Langhans  says  perti- 
nently, in  his  "  History  of  Music,"  that  Scarlatti 
did  not  realize  the  significance  of  the  sonata,  but 
commended  his  compositions  of  this  class  to  the 
indulgence  of  the  public,  with  the  remark  that 
"  in  them  not  deep  design  would  be  found,  but 
the  ingenious  pleasantry  of  art."  "  In  fact," 
continues  Langhans,  "  he  makes  more  account 
of  technics  than  of  intellectual  contents ;  yet  by 
his  application  of  the  principle  of  tripartition, 
prescriptive  for  the  modern  sonata,  and  by  a 
number  of  effective  innovations  of  a  technical 
kind,  such  as  running  passages  in  thirds  and 
sixths,  the  quick  stroke  of  one  and  the  same  key 
with  different  fingers,  broken  chords  in  contrary 
motion  for  both  hands,  etc.,  he  leads  us  directly 
into  the  modern  age."  These  things  were  neuf 
and  original. 


I  $6      THE  EVOLUTION1  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

We  must  return  to  the  indefatigable  Weitz- 
mann  to  get  a  more  detailed  account  of  this 
man's  work.  The  exhaustive  German  histo- 
rian says  that  Scarlatti's  compositions  maintain 
throughout  a  characteristic  principal  motive, 
sustained  by  a  well-elaborated  bass.  The  first 
movement  of  the  real  sonata  form  is  outlined  in 
them.  There  are  two  parts,  each  of  which  is  re- 
peated. The  first  contains  the  exposition  of  the 
thematic  material  of  the  composition.  It  begins 
with  the  principal  theme  in  the  chief  key,  moves 
to  a  related  key  in  the  following  passage,  and 
closes  with  a  cadence  in  the  second  key.  If  the 
first  part  is  in  a  major  key,  the  dominant  is  used 
for  the  modulatory  passage  by  which  the  second 
part  is  reached ;  if  it  is  in  a  minor  key,  then 
the  relative  major  or  dominant  minor  is  used. 
The  second  part  then  develops  the  material  of 
the  first,  and  modulates  back  to  the  fundamental 
key,  takes  up  the  beginning  of  the  composition, 
or  sometimes  a  later  passage  in  the  exposition, 
repeats  the  motive  of  the  first  part  in  the  origi- 
nal key,  and  closes  generally  with  a  cadence  like 
that  of  the  first  part.  An  important  peculiarity 
of  Scarlatti's  form,  foreshadowing  that  of  much 
later  writers,  is  that  frequently  in  the  modula- 
tory portion  of  the  first  part  he  introduces  a  new 
thought,  or  second  subject,  essentially  different 


LAYING   THE  FOUNDATIONS.  1 37 

from  the  first.  Add  to  all  these  novelties  in 
treatment  the  fact  that  he  was  original,  and  even 
daring,  in  his  modulations  and  rhythms,  and  you 
have  a  general  view  of  the  importance  of  Do- 
menico  Scarlatti. 

There  are  three  more  composers  of  the  Italian 
school  who  may  as  well  be  mentioned  here,  be- 
cause they  bring  us  into  direct  connection  with 
our  own  times.  The  first  of  these  is  Francesco 
Durante  (1684-1755).  He  wrote  studies  in  the 
free  style,  consisting  of  flowing  passages  and 
broken  chords,  sometimes  for  two,  sometimes 
for  three,  and  even  four,  voices  or  parts,  follow- 
ing by  a  sort  of  divertimento  for  two  voices,  in 
the  same  key,  less  laboriously  worked  out. 

The  second  is  Domenico  Alberti  (about  17 17 
to  about  1740).  His  compositions  consisted  of  a 
long  allegro  in  two  parts,  in  the  sonata  form  al- 
ready suggested,  followed  by  another  movement, 
sometimes  long  and  sometimes  short,  in  the 
same  key.  Alberti  did  not  treat  his  accompa- 
niment contrapuntally,  but  invented  the  well- 
known  Alberti  bass.  This  was  much  easier 
than  the  older  basses,  and  the  abuse  of  it  did 
much  to  retard  the  development  of  the  left 
hand.  Pietro  Domenico  Paradies  (1710-1792) 
wrote  twelve  "  Sonate  di  Gravicembalo."  His 
works  are  musically  and  technically  far  more  val- 


138      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

uable  than  those  of  Alberti.  They  consist  of 
two  movements  in  the  same  key,  but  differing 
in  tempo.  The  first  movement  is  the  longer. 
It  is  in  two  parts,  the  first  of  which  regularly 
closes  in  the  dominant  of  the  chief  key.  It  is 
either  an  allegro  followed  by  a  shorter  move- 
ment vivace,  or  it  is  an  aria.  Sometimes  he  be- 
gins with  an  andante,  followed  by  a  minuette 
or  a  giga.  This  composer's  works  were  studied 
by  the  celebrated  Muzio  Clementi.  This  mas- 
ter taught  John  Field,  one  of  whose  pupils  was 
Alexander  Villoing,  the  teacher  of  Anton  Ru- 
binstein. 

It  is  necessary  now  to  go  back  in  order  to 
note  the  rise  of  the  English,  French,  and  Ger- 
man schools.  The  English  school  of  harpsi- 
chord players  and  writers  was  very  important 
while  it  lasted,  but  it  exerted  no  great  or  lasting 
influence  on  the  progress  of  art.  The  German 
school,  on  the  other  hand,  developed  steadily 
along  a  well-defined  path,  giving  to  the  world 
the  works  of  Handel,  Sebastian  and  Emanuel 
Bach,  who  clearly  defined  the  sonata  form, 
Haydn,  Mozart,  and  Beethoven,  after  whom 
came  the  modern  romantic  school.  It  seems 
most  convenient  to  dismiss  the  English  school 
before  showing  how  the  Germans,  having  learned 
the    arts    of    composition    and    performance    of 


LAYING   THE  FOUNDATIONS.  1 39 

clavichord  music  from  the  Italians,  proceeded 
to  advance  in  their  own  characteristic  way.  The 
French  school,  which  is  of  more  importance  than 
the  English,  will  also  be  considered. 

It  appears  that  in  1550  there  were  in  the  ser- 
vice of  Edward  VI.,  in  addition  to  singers,  play- 
ers of  the  lute,  harp,  flute,  and  rebek,  trumpet- 
ers, and  drummers,  three  active  virginal  players, 
and  in  1575  Thomas  Tallis  and  his  famous 
pupil,  William  Byrd,  were  organists  to  Queen 
Elizabeth.  There  had  been  virginal  playing  in 
England  long  before  this,  however.  Even 
Henry  VIII.  was  a  player,  and  a  composer  as 
well,  as  may  be  seen  by  his  "  Pavane,"  tran- 
scribed by  J.  Stafford  Smith  from  the  Arundel 
collection,  and  printed  in  the  "  Musica  Antiqua." 
This  royal  composition  was  much  like  the  Ve- 
netian dances  of  the  book  of  1 5  5 1 ,  and  the  de- 
velopment of  virginal  music  in  England  seems 
to  have  been  similar  to  that  of  spinnet  music  in 
Italy  up  to  a  certain  point.  In  "  Queen  Eliz- 
abeth's Virginal  Book  "  are  to  be  found  speci- 
mens of  the  writing  of  Tallis,  Byrd,  and  their 
contemporaries,  Giles,  Farnaby,  Dr.  Bull,  and 
others.  Among  these  compositions  we  find 
fantasias,  which  consisted  of  different  motives 
following  one  another  in  imitation  and  fugal 
style,  pavanes,  galliards,  and  variations  on  folk 


140      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

melodies.  The  first  collection  of  virginal  mu- 
sic published  in  England  was  that  known  as 
the  "  Parthenia,"  which  appeared  in  1611.  The 
music  was  written  by  Byrd,  Bull,  Orlando  Gib- 
bons, and  others.  It  consisted  of  twenty-one 
pieces,  printed  on  six-line  staves.  These  pieces 
were  preludes,  pavanes,  galliards,  one  fantasia 
in  four  parts,  and  the  "  Queen's  Command," 
by  Gibbons,  which  was  an  air  and  variations. 
These  Englishmen  were  great  players  and  com- 
posers in  their  time,  but  they  accomplished  lit- 
tle or  nothing  in  the  development  of  our  extant 
form  and  technique.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  the 
achievements  of  the  French  school  deserve 
more  careful  consideration,  though,  as  we  shall 
presently  see,  the  development  of  piano  music 
and  piano  playing  passed  from  Italy  to  Ger- 
many in  the  first  half  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
and  was  continued  by  the  great  Teutonic  mas- 
ters down  to  our  time. 

The  first  great  light  of  the  French  clavecin 
school  was  Francois  Couperin,  the  second  of  the 
name,  born  1668,  died  1733.  He  was  a  con- 
temporary of  Jean  Philippe  Rameau  (1683- 
1764),  who  was  not  only  a  great  operatic  com- 
poser, but  also  a  celebrated  theorist.  His 
"  Trait 6  d'Harmonie,"  published  in  1722,  con- 
tains rules  which  form  the  basis  of  our  present 


LAYING    THE   FOUNDATIONS.  141 

harmony.  "  Moreover,  Rameau  brought  to  per- 
fection equal  temperament,  which  we  saw  Zar- 
lino  beginning  to  study  in  Venice  a  century 
and  a  half  earlier.  He  divided  the  octave  into 
twelve  equal  half  steps,  thus  removing  the  im- 
pediments offered  to  the  progress  of  instrumen- 
tal music  by  instruments  with  a  fixed  tuning. 
Bach  had  already  brought  equal  temperament 
into  use  in  1722,  but  it  was  only  after  the  pub- 
lication in  1737  of  Rameau's  '  Generation  Har- 
monique  '  that  scientists  accepted  this  system 
of  tuning  as  the  essential  basis  of  music" 
("  Story  of  Music,"  page  45).  Couperin  lived 
hardly  long  enough  to  reap  the  benefits  of  Ra- 
meau's achievements,  but  his  immediate  suc- 
cessors showed  the  influence  of  the  new  theory. 
Couperin  published  four  volumes  of  "  Pieces  de 
Clavecin."  They  were  approved  by  Sebastian 
Bach,  who  advised  his  pupils  to  study  them. 
He  also  published  a  notable  technical  work  en- 
titled "  L'Art  de  toucher  le  Clavecin,  y  compris 
huit  Preludes." 

His  compositions  were  mostly  suites,  but  the 
form  was  very  uncertain.  Full  harmony  is  rarely 
found  in  Couperin's  clavier  movements.  They 
are  usually  contrapuntal,  but  the  upper  voice 
carries  the  principal  melody.  His  works  contain 
curious  rhythmical  oddities,  which  give  them  a 


142      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

stiff,  old-fashioned,  angular  movement.  His 
suites  are  a  sort  of  refined  ballet  music,  and  the 
movements  are  often  distinguished  by  theatrical 
titles,  such  as  "  La  Majesteuse,"  "  La  Prude," 
"  La  Flattesse."  The  uncertainty  of  the  form  of 
his  suites  is  seen  in  the  loose  distribution  of  the 
movements.  For  instance,  one  suite,  the  fifth 
(A  major),  consists  of  an  allemande,  two  cou- 
rantes,  a  sarabande,  a  gigue,  and  six  rondos,  in- 
termingled with  numbers  in  free  style.  Dr. 
Spitta  says  ("  Life  of  Bach,"  vol.  ii.,  page  86) : 
"  In  spite  of  this  he  never  entirely  quits  the 
ground  of  the  suite,  for  he  keeps  to  the  same  key 
throughout,  even  when  he  does  not  begin  with 
the  usual  pieces.  But  it  is  clear  that  he  never 
felt  the  necessity  of  welding  together  the  various 
constituent  parts  to  one  perfect  whole  of  many 
members."  The  chief  significance  of  Couperin's 
suites  for  us  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  great  Bach 
studied  them  and  imitated  them.  This  accounts 
for  some  of  the  peculiarities  of  his  compositions 
in  this  line.  Couperin  also  wrote  an  allemande 
for  two  claviers,  which  may  have  had  some  in- 
fluence in  producing  Bach's  double  concerti.  It 
may  as  well  be  added  here  that  Bach  wiped  out 
the  uncertainties  of  form  in  the  suite,  and  in  this, 
as  in  other  departments,  established  the  model 
for  future  composers.     Louis  Marchand  (1669- 


LAYING   THE  FOUNDATIONS.  1 43 

1732)  and  his  successor,  Louis  Claude  Daquin, 
were  the  other  lights  of  the  French  school. 
Rameau,  before  mentioned,  published  several 
collections  of  compositions  for  the  clavier,  the 
last  of  which,  issued  in  Paris  in  1741,  was  "  Trois 
concertos  pour  clavecin,  violon  et  basse  de  viole." 
As  this  was  published  after  the  time  when  the 
development  of  piano  music  had  fairly  passed 
over  into  Germany,  it  needs  but  to  be  mentioned. 
There  is  an  excellent  edition  by  no  less  a  master 
than  Johannes  Brahms  of  some  of  Couperin's 
compositions,  and  other  works  of  the  French 
school  can  be  found  in  E.  Pauer's  "  Alte  Clavier- 
musik"  and  Weitzmann's  "  Geschichte  des  Cla- 
vierspiels." 

Let  us  now  turn  to  an  examination  of  the  be- 
ginning of  the  great  German  school.  The  early 
masters  of  this  school  studied  under  the  Italian 
composers.  It  is  not  necessary  to  enter  into  this 
matter  in  detail,  but  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
would  like  a  more  extended  account  than  will  be 
given  here,  it  may  be  said  that  material  is  to  be 
found  in  Naumann's  "  History  of  Music,"  vol. 
i.,  page  612  et  seq. ;  Weitzmann's  "Geschichte 
des  Clavierspiels,"  page  34  et  seq.,  and  in  vari< 
ous  parts  of  Spitta's  "  Life  of  Bach,"  which  must 
be  discovered  by  searching  the  index.  The 
first  of  the  Germans  who  studied  under  Italian 


144      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

masters  was  Gallus  (1550-91).  He  is  supposed 
to  have  been  a  pupil  of  Andrea  Gabrielli.  Ja- 
cob Meiland  (1542-77),  Adam  Gumpeltzhaimer 
(1560-?),  Christian  Erbach  (1 560-1628),  Hans 
Leo  Hassler  (1 564-161 2),  and  Gregor  Aichinger 
(1 565-1621)  all  studied  under  Venetian  masters 
and  wrote  in  the  Venetian  style  for  organ  and 
harpsichord.  Meiland,  for  instance,  wrote  what 
Naumann  calls  "  song- dances,"  which  were  gal- 
liards,  pavanes,  etc.,  da  cantare  e  sonare.  Hass- 
ler was  probably  the  most  talented  composer  of 
all  these,  but  his  best  works  were  canzonets 
and  madrigals  for  voices,  and  they  became  wide- 
ly popular.  Many  Germans  studied  in  Rome, 
whither  they  were  drawn  by  the  fame  of  Caris- 
simi  and  Frescobaldi,  and  it  is  among  the  pupils 
of  the  latter  that  we  find  two  of  the  important 
predecessors  of  Bach.  These  were  Johann  Kas- 
per  von  Kerl  (1625-90)  and  Johann  Jacob  Fro- 
berger  (1610-67).  It  is  not  definitely  proved 
that  Kerl  studied  under  Frescobaldi,  but  his 
eminence  as  an  organist,  together  with  the  fact 
that  he  studied  in  Rome  and  the  internal  evi- 
dence of  his  works,  makes  it  a  safe  inference 
that  he  did  so.  Froberger,  we  know,  went  to 
Rome  on  purpose  to  study  under  Frescobaldi. 

Froberger  excelled  as  both  organist  and  cem- 
balist.    His  writings  display  the  finely  developed 


LAYING   THE  FOUNDATIONS.  145 

contrapuntal  and  fugal  style  of  his  master,  and 
also  a  tendency  to  an  excessive  use  of  those  spe- 
cial kinds  of  ornamentation  adapted  to  keyed 
instruments.  These  ornaments,  called  agree- 
ments, such  as  the  "  tremblement  simple  "  (trill), 
"  autre  cadence,"  "  pince,"  "  chute  et  pinc6," 
"  coul6,"  "  tierce  coulee,"  etc.,  were  cultivated 
by  the  French,  and  Froberger  is  supposed  to 
have  learned  them  while  visiting  Paris.  He  re- 
jected the  six-  and  eight-line  staves  and  wrote  on 
a  five-line  staff  as  we  do  now,  using  indifferently 
the  C,  F,  or  G  clef.  Two  important  works  of 
his  were  published  at  Mayence.  The  first  was 
called  "  Diverse  curiose  rarissime  partite  di  toc- 
cate,  ricercate,  capricci  e  fantaisie  per  gli  amatori 
di  cembali,  organi  ed  instromenti."  The  second, 
a  larger  work  (1714),  was  called  :  "  Diverse  in- 
gegniosissime,  rarissime,  e  non  mai  piu  viste 
curiose  partite  di  toccate,  canzone,  ricercate,  ale- 
mande,  correnti,  sarabande  e  gigue  di  cembali, 
organi  e  instrumenti."  There  is  much  charming 
melody  in  these  works,  and  Sebastian  Bach  es- 
teemed them  so  highly  that  he  wrote  a  prelude 
and  fugue  in  E  flat  on  the  Froberger  model. 
Dr.  Spitta  says  that  Froberger's  toccatas  "  con- 
tributed to  the  formation  of  the  North  German 
fugue  form,  consisting  of  several  sections."  He 
further  says  that  "  with  regard  to  free  organ  com 


146      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

position  Froberger  stands  about  half-way  be- 
tween the  northern  and  southern  masters."  This 
is  less  interesting  to  us  than  the  fact  that  Fro- 
berger was  one  of  the  earliest  composers  of  pro- 
gramme music.  Dr.  Spitta,  in  searching  for  the 
model  after  which  Bach  built  his  "  Capriccio 
sopra  la  lontananza  del  suo  fratello  dilettissimo," 
mentions  Kuhnau's  six  sonatas  on  biblical  nar- 
ratives and  says  they  did  not  stand  alone.  He 
quotes  Matheson,  who  declared  that  Froberger 
could  tell  whole  histories  on  the  clavier,  "giving 
a  representation  of  the  persons  present  and  tak- 
ing part  in  it,  with  all  their  natural  characters." 
Matheson  says,  moreover,  that  he  possessed  a 
suite  by  this  composer  "  in  which  the  passage 
across  the  Rhine  of  Count  von  Thurn,  and  the 
danger  he  was  exposed  to  from  the  river,  is  most 
clearly  set  before  our  eyes  and  ears  in  twenty- 
six  little  pieces."  Of  course  these  attempts  at 
characterization  were  imitations  of  the  efforts  of 
Couperin.  The  force  of  their  delineation  must 
have  been  much  greater  than  that  of  any  pro- 
gramme music  of  our  time,  if  Matheson  speaks 
truly.  But  Matheson  had  an  active  imagina- 
tion. 

George    Muffat  ( -  l7®4)  and   Heinrich 

Franz  von  Biber  (1648- 1705)  must  be  men- 
tioned, because  the   former,  in  his  "Apparatus 


LAYING   THE  FOUNDATIONS.  1 47 

Musico  -  Organisticus,"  published  at  Augsburg 
in  1695,  proved  himself  to  be  a  greater  master 
of  bravura  writing  for  keyed  instruments  than 
either  Frescobaldi  or  Merulo,  and  because  Von 
Biber,  though  a  violinist,  contributed  greatly  to 
the  development  of  the  sonata  form.  His  writ- 
ings in  this  department  show  a  well-considered 
contrast  in  rhythm  and  tempo,  but  there  is  none 
of  that  regulated  distribution  of  keys  which  is 
deemed  indispensable  to  the  modern  sonata.  • 
The  immediate  predecessors  of  Bach  were 
organists  of  great  ability  and  renown.  They 
can  be  traced  in  a  direct  line  from  Jan  Pieters 
Sweelinck  (1 540-1621),  a  celebrated  master  of 
the  Netherlands  school.  Among  the  most  not- 
ed of  them  were  Samuel  Scheidt  (1 587-1684), 
Heinrich  Scheidemann  (1600- 1694),  John  Adam 
Reincke  (1623 -1722),  Dietrich  Buxtehude 
( 1635-1707),  and  Johann  Kuhnau  (1667-1722). 
The  three  last,  as  the  dates  show,  were  contem- 
poraries of  Bach,  though  older  men,  and  exer- 
cised marked  influence  on  his  development.  He 
was  acquainted  with  all  three  personally,  and 
made  long  journeys  in  order  to  hear  Reincke 
and  Buxtehude  play  the  organ.  Reincke  was 
an  organist  pure  and  simple,  but  Buxtehude  was 
also  a  fine  player  on  the  clavier  and  composed 
some  good  music  for  the  instrument.     He  ex- 


143      THE  EVOLUTION-  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

celled  in  the  free  style  of  writing,  and  his  works 
are  imbued  with  deep  poetical  feeling. 

Kuhnau  is  more  important  for  our  considera- 
tion, because  he  advanced  the  development  of 
the  sonata  form  in  Germany.  Some  writers 
have  held  that  he  was  the  inventor  of  the  sonata 
form  in  many  parts,  but  it  is  more  truthful  to 
say  that  he  introduced  it  in  his  own  country. 
His  first  sonata  is  in  three  parts,  and  is  found  in 
his  work  bearing  this  curious  title  :  "  The  other 
part  of  clavier  exercise  ;  that  is,  seven  parts  from 
re,  mi,  fa,  or  tertia  minor  tone,  in  addition  to  a 
sonata  in  B  ;  written  for  the  special  delectation 
of  lovers  of  music."  Kuhnau's  sonatas  do  not 
disclose  a  form  growing  out  of  the  use  of  two  or 
more  themes  or  subjects.  They  are  monothe- 
matic  and  consist  of  either  fugato  movements  or 
parts  in  the  style  of  a  suite. 

This  brings  us  down  to  music  which  still 
figures  in  piano  recitals.  The  growth  of  piano 
music  from  this  time  is  in  one  of  its  aspects  the 
development  of  the  sonata  form,  of  which  the 
history  has  been  written  in  many  places  and  is 
familiar  to  most  lovers  of  music.  But  there  is 
another  aspect  of  the  evolution  of  piano  music, 
which  to  my  mind  is  quite  as  important  as  the 
development  of  the  form.  This  is  the  develop- 
ment of  the  technique  of  the  instrument,  in- 


LAYING  THE  FOUNDATIONS.  149 

fluenced  as  it  was  by  the  musical  tendencies  of 
the  successive  periods  of  musical  history  and 
showing  a  singular  but  unmistakable  reaction 
upon  them.  Let  us,  then,  review  briefly  the 
condition  of  music  before  Bach  established  his 
technique. 


II.— Development  of  the  Technique. 

In  the  history  of  instrumental  music  there 
are  three  great  periods,  not  divided  by  distinct 
lines,  but  gradually  passing  one  into  the  other, 
and  overlapping.  These  three  periods  are  the 
Polyphonic,  the  Classic,  and  the  Romantic.  In 
the  early  history  of  music  the  musical  scholars 
were  all  churchmen,  and  musical  learning  was 
all  expended  upon  church  music.  Musical 
scholarship  devoted  all  its  energies  to  the  pro- 
duction of  great  works  in  counterpoint,  till  after 
a  time  the  masses  of  the  church  became  unin- 
telligible. The  Lutheran  chorale,  the  broad 
hymn  tune  for  congregational  worship,  which 
came  into  prominence  in  the  Reformation,  con- 
vinced the  fathers  of  the  Roman  Church  that  a 
simple  style  was  necessary,  and  they  took  meas- 
ures which  led  to  its  adoption.  About  the  same 
time  a  band  of  Florentine  enthusiasts,  in  seek- 
ing to  resuscitate  the  dramatic  recitation  of  the 
Greek  drama,  gave  to  the  world  the  modern 
opera,  and  introduced  a  still  simpler  and  more 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE   TECHNIQUE.   1 5 1 

beautiful  vocal  style   than   had   hitherto   been 
known. 

Before  these  changes  took  place  instrumental 
music  was  nothing  but  an  echo  of  vocal  music. 
The  instruments  simply  played  the  voice  parts 
of  compositions  written  for  singers.  The  mono- 
chord,  the  piano  of  the  time,  was  used  for  the 
home  practice  of  organists,  and  its  style  was 
borrowed  from  the  organ,  which  spoke  only  the 
contrapuntal  accents  of  the  Church.  When  vo- 
cal music  assumed  a  simpler  style,  instrumental 
music  went  on  elaborating  contrapuntal  devices, 
and  this  contrapuntal,  or  polyphonic,  instru- 
mental style  reached  its  perfection  in  the  hands 
of  Bach.  In  contrapuntal  playing,  in  the  simul- 
taneous delivery  of  several  melodies,  Bach  re- 
mains the  model  in  the  history  of  music.  He 
brought  the  old  style  of  performance  to  the 
highest  grade  of  finish ;  but  he  was  also  instru- 
mental in  overthrowing  it,  for  it  was  during  his 
time  that  the  cantabile  style  of  monophonic 
playing  began  to  supersede  the  old  fugal  man- 
ner. The  music  of  Bach's  day  gives  abundant 
evidence  of  being  in  a  state  of  transition  from 
one  period  to  the  other.  All  through  Handel's 
"  Messiah,"  for  instance,  you  will  find  passages 
built  on  scales,  like  those  of  Bach's  successors, 
mingled   with  passages   in   the   fugal  style.     If 


152      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

the  reader  will  examine  the  tenor  air,  "  Every 
Valley,"  he  will  at  once  perceive  the  meaning 
of  my  assertion. 

Now  what  causes  led  to  the  transition  from 
the  polyphonic,  fugal  style  to  the  cantabile  of 
Emanuel  Bach  and  Mozart  ?  The  first  was 
the  operatic  aria.  The  aria  da  capo  made  its 
appearance  in  Cavalli's  "  Giasone,"  which  was 
produced  in  1649,  anc^  was  afterward  made 
popular  all  over  Europe  by  Alessandro  Scar- 
latti. The  aria  da  capo  was  a  simple  song 
form,  consisting  of  a  melody,  a  second  melody, 
and  a  return  to  the  first.  Its  perspicuity  and 
symmetry  pleased  the  public,  and  composers 
for  the  clavier  felt  that  it  had  emotional  possi- 
bilities not  found  in  the  fugal  style.  Evidence 
of  its  immediate  influence  is  found  in  the  clavi- 
chord works,  already  mentioned,  of  Bernardo 
Pasquini  (1637-17 10),  who  aimed  at  a  more 
flowing  and  vocal  style  than  that  of  his  prede- 
cessors. The  second  cause  was  the  complete 
establishment  by  Domenico  Scarlatti  (1683— 
1757)  of  the  difference  between  the  technique 
of  the  organ  and  that  of  the  piano,  as  described 
in  the  previous  chapter.  And  the  third  cause 
was  the  immense  reforms  in  fingering  intro- 
duced by  Johann  Sebastian  Bach.  He  was 
the  Moses  who  led  music  out  of  the  ecclesias- 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE   TECHNIQUE.  1 53 

tical  wilderness.  If  you  wish  to  understand 
that  new  testament  of  which  Beethoven  was 
the  John  and  Wagner  the  Paul,  you  must  go 
back  to  the  old  testament  and  study  Bach  and 
the  prophets. 

Previous  to  the  time  of  Johann  Sebastian 
Bach  the  technique  of  the  clavier  was  simply 
obstructive  to  the  progress  of  playing.  It  was 
based  upon  illogical  and  arbitrary  rules,  which 
had  no  foundation  in  the  anatomical  structure 
of  the  hand.  The  old  rules  required  the  player 
to  use  his  fingers  in  ways  contrary  to  the  laws 
of  nature.  To  be  sure,  one  can  train  his  muscles 
and  ligaments  to  do  abnormal  things,  as  you 
may  learn  from  the  performance  of  any  acrobat ; 
but  playing  a  piano  should  not  be  the  feat  of  a 
contortionist.  The  rules  set  forth  by  Caspar 
Majers  in  1741  commanded  the  pianist  to  play 
ascending  seconds  in  the  right  hand  with  the 
middle  and  ring  fingers ;  thirds  and  fourths  with 
the  middle  and  index  ;  fifths  and  sixths  with 
the  index  and  little;  sevenths  and  eighths  with 
the  little  and  thumb. 

It  is  easy  to  perceive  that  such  rules  as  these, 
which,  according  to  their  date,  were  extant  in 
Bach's  day,  precluded  the  possibility  of  great 
fluency  and  rapidity.  A  smooth  legato  style 
could  be  obtained  only  at  a  moderate  tempo. 


154      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

Any  attempt  at  rapidity  would  have  been  de« 
structive  of  smoothness  and  would  have  resulted 
in  an  uneven  distribution  of  dynamic  power  and 
a  consequent  disturbance  of  the  symmetry  of  the 
phrasing.  The  impulse  which  caused  pianists 
to  break  the  shackles  of  these  old  rules  was  un- 
doubtedly the  growing  influence  of  romanticism 
in  music.  In  the  old  polyphonic,  ecclesiastical 
style  of  composition  for  the  clavier,  when  pieces 
written  for  that  instrument  resembled  in  form 
and  content  the  organ  fugues  or  contrapuntal 
anthems  of  the  Church,  the  player  was  compelled 
to  cultivate  a  technique  which  would  enable 
him  to  enunciate  with  his  fingers  the  three  or 
four  voice  parts  in  which  these  contrapuntal 
compositions  were  always  written.  D.  Scarlatti 
established  the  monophonic  or  single-voiced 
style  of  composition.  In  plain  words,  he  wrote 
airs,  composed  of  progressions  of  single  notes, 
for  the  right  hand  with  accompaniments  for  the 
left.  His  style  of  writing  was  learned  by  the 
Germans,  and  Sebastian  Bach,  whose  genius 
exalted  and  moulded  anew  the  entire  formal  ma- 
terial of  music  as  known  in  his  day,  effected  in 
some  of  his  works,  such  as  the  "  Chromatic  Fan- 
tasia and  Fugue,"  an  astounding  combination  of 
the  old  and  new  styles.  There  are  passages  in 
the  composition   named  which   lean  far  forward 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE   TECHNIQUE.   1 55 

into  the  present  and  resemble  in  style  and  spirit 
some  of  the  devices  of  Liszt. 

In  order  to  perform  the  new  kind  of  music 
Sebastian  Bach  was  compelled  to  throw  over 
the  stupid  and  illogical  technique  of  his  pre- 
decessors. His  son,  Emanuel  Bach,  who  was 
not  a  great  composer,  but  whose  comprehension 
and  revelation  of  the  genius  of  the  clavier  en- 
title him  to  an  honorable  position  on  the  page 
of  musical  history,  carried  the  development  of 
technique  still  further  in  his  admirable  search 
after  a  fine  legato  style.  In  his  epoch-making 
book  on  "  The  True  Manner  of  Playing  the 
Clavichord,"  he  says  :  "  Methinks  music  ought 
principally  to  move  the  heart,  and  in  this  no 
performer  on  the  pianoforte  will  succeed  by 
merely  thumping  and  drumming  or  by  contin- 
ual arpeggio  playing.  During  the  last  few  years 
my  chief  endeavor  has  been  to  play  the  piano- 
forte, in  spite  of  its  deficiency  in  sustaining 
sound,  as  much  as  possible  in  a  singing  manner 
and  to  compose  for  it  accordingly.  This  is  by 
no  means  an  easy  task  if  we  desire  not  to  leave 
the  ear  empty,  or  to  disturb  the  noble  simplicity 
of  the  cantabile  with  too  much  noise."  This  art 
of  singing  on  the  pianoforte  is  still  one  of  the 
great  desiderata  of  a  lofty  style,  and  to-day  no 
higher  praise  can  be   awarded  to  any  player'* 


156      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

touch  than  to  say  that  his  cantabile  made  his 
hearers  forget  that  the  pianoforte  was  not  a  pro- 
ducer of  sustained  tones. 

The  whole  structure  of  modern  piano  tech- 
nique, which  was  over  a  century  in  the  course 
of  development,  rests  upon  the  foundation  of 
the  Bach  legato ;  for  from  this  came  our  smooth 
and  equal  scale  and  arpeggio  playing,  which  is 
one  of  the  most  salient  features  of  our  technique. 
All  the  other  features  of  modern  technique  are 
derived  either  from  this,  or  from  the  virtues  of 
the  old  polyphonic  style.  The  Schumann  tech- 
nique is  simply  a  rational  development  of  a 
blending  of  the  two  styles.  Now  let  us  see 
wherein  the  mechanical  wonder  of  Bach's  revo- 
lution lies. 

Previous   to   his   day  players   had    used  the 
fingers  in  an  outstretched  position,  the  thumb 
hanging    down  (Fig.    1).     Bach    at   once   per- 
ceived that  this  position 
of   the  hand  was    unnat- 
ural, that  it   robbed    the 
fingers    of    their    normal 
power  and   left   a   valua- 
F,G- '•  ble  ally  unemployed.  He, 

therefore,  began  to  make  as  free  use  of  his 
thumb  as  he  did  of  the  other  fingers.  But  the 
moment  that  he  attempted  to  use  the  thumb  he 


DEVELOPMENT  OF   THE   TECHNIQUE.   1 57 

was  forced  to  change  the  position  of  the  other 
fingers  and  the  old  order  of  things  was  over- 
thrown. For  in  order  to  play  with  the  thumb 
as  well  as  the  fingers,  it  was  necessary,  on  ac- 
count of  the  shortness  of  the  former,  to  curve 
the  latter  (Fig.  2).  As  Dr.  Spitta  puts  it  in 
his  great  "  Life  of  Bach," 
"  This  curving  at  once  ex- 
cluded all  rigidity ;  the 
fingers  remained  in  an 
easy,  elastic  attitude, 
ready    for    extension    or  F,G-2- 

contraction  at  any  moment,  and  they  could 
now  hit  the  keys  rapidly  and  accurately  as  they 
hovered  close  over  them.  Thus  by  diligent 
practice  the  greatest  possible  equality  of  touch, 
strength,  and  rapidity  was  acquired  in  both 
hands,  and  each  was  made  quite  independent 
of  the  other." 

Bach  was  not  alone  in  the  free  use  of  the 
thumb,  for  Francois  Couperin  (1668-1733),  Jo- 
hann  Gottfried  Walther,  a  contemporary  of 
Bach,  Heinichen,  and  Handel,  who  was  a  great 
clavier  player,  and  whose  hands  were  used  in  a 
bent  position,  according  to  Chrysander,  all  em- 
ployed the  thumb  in  many  ways  ;  but  it  was 
Bach  who  systematically  developed  a  method 
of   fingering  based  on   the  new  style  and  who 


158      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

handed  down  rules.  Some  of  them  have  lived 
until  our  day,  for  as  Dr.  Spitta  says,  "  The 
natural  tendency  of  the  thumb  to  bend  toward 
the  hollow  of  the  hand  made  it  of  admirable  use 
in  passing  it  under  the  other  fingers,  or  them 
over  it."  It  was  Bach  who  refingered  the  scales 
in  accordance  with  this  natural  use  of  the  thumb. 
Now  let  us  see  how  this  innovation  of  Bach's 
revolutionized  the  technique  of  piano  playing 
and  the  style  of  musical  utterance  employed  by 
writers  for  the  piano.  As  soon  as  composers 
found  that  the  freedom  of  the  hand  facilitated 
scale  playing,  they  naturally  began  to  write 
extended  melodies  based  on  scales,  a  practice 
already  introduced  in  vocal  music.  The  com- 
plete beauty  of  this  style  is  found  in  the  works 
of  Mozart,  who  was  the  next  great  piano  com- 
poser after  the  Bachs.  And  we  ought  to  notice 
the  interesting  fact  that  the  fondness  for  scale 
passages  fostered  by  Mozart's  great  virtuosity  as 
a  pianist  influenced  his  orchestral  style  and 
even  his  operatic  creations.  We  must  remember 
that  Mozart's  career  began  at  the  piano.  Even 
in  Beethoven's  time  the  use  of  the  scale  had  not 
palled  upon  composers,  and  some  of  the  noblest 
thoughts  of  the  mighty  Ludwig  are  built  on  sim- 
ple scale  passages.  Of  course  in  Beethoven's 
early  piano  concertos,  when  he  was  still  under 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE   TECHNIQUE.   1 59 

the  influence  of  Mozart's  genius,  scale  passages 
and  the  running  style  prevail,  and  I  think  I  do 
not  go  too  far  in  saying  that  there  is  nothing  in 
these  works  which  cannot  be  performed  with 
the  technique  of  Emanuel  Bach. 

Mozart  followed  the  theory  of  Emanuel 
Bach  as  to  the  singing  character  of  the  piano. 
Jahn  says :  "  Mozart's  musical  training  was 
founded  on  song — and  his  inclinations  led  him 
to  song — in  a  greater  degree  than  was  the  case 
with  his  two  predecessors."  Bearing  in  mind, 
then,  the  influence  of  his  early  training  as  a 
pianist  and  his  later  development  as  an  operatic 
composer,  we  see  the  logical  tendency  of  Mo- 
zart's technique.  He  demanded  of  the  pianist 
a  perfect  legato,  a  singing  touch,  and  an  unaf- 
fected style.  It  is  on  record  that  he  said  as 
much,  and  the  internal  evidence  of  his  music 
shows  that  he  practised  what  he  preached. 
His  beautiful  fingering  was  the  result  of  a  close 
study  of  Sebastian  Bach  and  his  son  Eman- 
uel. He  carried  forward  the  development  of 
the  latter's  technique,  and  is  the  connecting  link 
between  him  and  Clementi.  He  demanded  "  a 
quiet  and  steady  hand,  with  its  natural  light- 
ness, smoothness,  and  gliding  rapidity  so  well 
developed  that  the  passages  should  flow  like 
oil."     He  required  the  delivery  of  every  note, 


l60      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIAXO  MUSIC. 

grace,  and  accent  with  appropriate  expression 
and  taste.  He  was  opposed  to  over-rapidity  of 
execution  and  to  violations  of  time.  "Three 
things,"  he  said,  "  are  necessary  for  a  good  per- 
former ;  "  and  he  pointed  to  his  head,  his  heart, 
and  his  fingers.  Thus  we  perceive  that  from 
the  moment  that  Bach  threw  off  the  shackles 
of  the  old  rules  and  made  it  possible  by  the  use 
of  the  thumb  to  play  scale  passages  smoothly 
and  evenly,  the  genius  of  piano-music  composers 
led  them  in  the  direction  of  a  singing  style 
based  on  the  scale. 

The  next  great  change  in  the  style  of  piano 
composition  and  piano  technique,  for  the  two 
things  go  hand  in  hand,  came  about  in  the 
course  of  the  supremacy  of  Muzio  Clementi 
(1752-1832).  This  man  was  in  some  respects 
a  repetition  in  musical  history  of  Emanuel 
Bach.  He  was  not  a  great  composer,  not  even 
as  good  a  composer  as  Emanuel,  and  his  music 
never  figures  in  general  concerts  in  our  day  any 
more  than  that  of  Bach's  son ;  but  he  had  the 
keen  insight  of  his  predecessor  into  the  nature 
and  possibilities  of  the  instrument  on  which  he 
played.  Given  a  different  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  such  a  man  and  you  will  have  new 
results.  This  is  just  what  took  place.  The 
prime  cause  of  the  vast  difference  between  the 


DEVELOPMENT  OE  THE   TECHNIQUE.      l6l 

technique  of  Clementi  and  that  of  Mozart  was 
a  difference  of  instruments.  Clementi  used  the 
English  piano;  Mozart,  the  Viennese.  The 
English  piano,  as  Ernst  Pauer  has  noted,  had 
thicker  strings,  and  a  richer  tone,  and  its  ham- 
mer had  a  deeper  fall.  This  made  it  "  favor- 
able to  the  sure  execution  of  thirds,  sixths,  and 
octaves,  and  to  the  clear  and  precise  playing  of 
chords  in  succession ;  the  tone  of  the  Vienna 
piano,  though  thin  and  of  shorter  duration,  was 
highly  agreeable,  and  its  action  was  so  light 
that  (as  in  the  harpsichord)  the  most  delicate 
pressure  produced  a  sound  from  the  key. 
.  .  .  Clementi's  piano  was  therefore  favor- 
able to  a  substantial  and  masculine  treatment ; 
while  the  Vienna  piano  responded  best  to  a 
rapid  fluent  style  and  to  arpeggio  playing." 

In  every  art  there  come  periods  when  its  vo- 
taries devote  themselves  wholly  to  the  develop- 
ment of  its  technique.  I  think  we  are  passing 
through  such  a  stage  in  some  arts  to-day. 
Poets  are  more  concerned  just  now  about  the 
music  of  their  verse  than  about  the  vitality  of 
their  thought.  And  when  artists  take  up  this 
study  of  technique  they  almost  invariably  seek 
to  carry  it  beyond  the  domain  of  their  art,  as 
did  the  ancient  painter  who  painted  grapes  so 
as  to  deceive  the  birds.  That  was  great  tech- 
ii 


1 62      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

nique,  but  it  was  not  art  at  all.  So  the  follow- 
ers of  Clementi  have  striven  to  make  the  piano 
a  rival  of  the  orchestra,  for  he  was  the  founder 
of  the  school  which  aims  at  immense  sonor- 
ity and  bewildering  complexity.  The  Vienna 
school  aimed  at  retaining  the  character  of  the 
piano  as  a  chamber  instrument.  The  more 
powerful  construction  of  the  English  piano 
tempted  Clementi  to  develop  a  larger  style. 
This  could  not  be  reached  through  the  simple 
scale  passages  and  single-note  progressions  of 
Mozart.  If  you  wish  to  get  a  volume  of  tone 
from  a  piano  you  must  take  notes  by  the  hand- 
ful. Consequently  in  Clementi's  compositions 
appear  rapid  passages  in  thirds,  sixths,  and  oc- 
taves. Moreover,  he  writes  more  extended 
chords  and  demands  of  the  player  a  muscular 
power  previously  unknown.  Clementi,  as  I 
have  said,  was  a  piano  technician  pure  and  sim- 
ple, and  he  wrote  almost  exclusively  for  his 
chosen  instrument.  His  exploration  into  its 
resources  developed  a  technique  which  is  ample 
for  the  performance  of  everything  in  piano  mu- 
sic up  to  the  death  of  Beethoven.  It  is  natural 
that  this  man  should  have  trained  John  Field, 
the  teacher  of  Alexander  Villoing,  who  was  the 
only  instructor  of  Anton  Rubinstein. 

We  have  now  seen  the  transition  from  the 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE   TECHNIQUE.      1 63 

polyphonic  style  to  the  monophonic  legato,  and 
we  have  seen  added  to  that  the  use  of  chord 
successions  and  the  other  elements  of  a  sonorous 
and  masculine  method.  These  two  styles  are 
the  foundation  of  our  present  technique,  which 
is  the  result  of  their  natural  and  inevitable 
union.  For  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that 
pianists  would  rest  content  with  a  division  of 
styles  based  on  a  difference  of  instruments. 
The  demand  of  the  musical  world  for  a  piano 
on  which  both  styles  could  be  employed  with 
equal  facility  and  brilliancy  was,  of  course,  un- 
avoidable, and  the  development  of  music  com- 
bining the  two  styles  was  bound  to  be,  if  any- 
thing, a  step  in  advance  of  the  growth  of  the 
means  of  execution. 

I  have  said  that  the  technique  of  Clementi 
was  sufficient  for  the  performance  of  everything 
up  to  the  death  of  Beethoven.  The  emotional 
content  of  the  mighty  Ludwig's  works  is,  of 
course,  far  more  important  than  their  technical 
peculiarities.  Indeed,  in  respect  of  technique, 
Beethoven's  sonatas  and  concertos  show  little 
advance  over  the  works  of  his  predecessors. 
All  that  is  best  in  the  styles  of  Bach,  Mozart, 
and  Clementi  is  to  be  found  in  Beethoven's 
works ;  and  that  which  is  distinctively  his  own 
is  the  spirit  rather   than   the  mechanism.     He 


1 64      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

certainly  did,  however,  enrich  the  piano  style 
of  his  time  by  a  freer  use  of  polyphony  than  his 
immediate  predecessors  had  made.  It  was  not 
the  ecclesiastical  polyphony  of  the  contrapun- 
tists, but  a  modernized  kind,  the  growth  of  an 
adaptation  of  scholastic  material  to  the  needs  of 
romantic  expression.  The  tremendous  finale  of 
the  sonata,  opus  III,  is  an  example  of  Beetho- 
ven's use  of  this  style.  Again,  Beethoven's  orig- 
inality in  rhythm  demanded  of  pianists  increased 
attention  to  the  distribution  of  accents  ;  and  to 
achieve  the  desired  effects  it  was  necessary  to 
be  more  careful  in  developing  independence  of 
finger,  a  thing  which  in  our  day  is  a  sine  qua 
non  of  piano-playing.  Finally,  the  majestic  dig- 
nity of  the  musical  utterance  of  these  sonatas 
and  concertos  called  for  a  broader  and  nobler 
tone-color  and  a  more  dramatic  phrasing  than 
had  hitherto  been  known  to  the  piano.  Even 
in  our  day,  with  the  superb  instruments  at  our 
command,  and  the  entire  resources  of  Liszt's 
witchcraft  in  tone-color  open  to  us,  we  cannot 
exceed  the  requirements  of  Beethoven's  works 
in  the  details  of  sonority  and  variety  of  color. 
This  feature  of  their  technical  aspect  points,  as 
all  their  other  traits  do,  to  the  fact  that  the 
child  of  the  Bonngasse  wrote  not  for  a  day,  but 
for  all  time. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE   TECHNIQUE.      l6$ 

Nevertheless,  as  far  as  the  mere  mechanics  of 
piano-playing  are  concerned,  the  technique  of 
Clementi's  "  Gradus  ad  Parnassum  "  suffices  for 
the  performance  of  even  the  "Emperor"  con- 
certo. The  technique  of  Schubert  and  Weber 
was  also  based  on  Clementi's.  The  latter,  how- 
ever, showed  some  originality  in  the  use  of  ex- 
tended chords,  and  in  his  "  Concertstuck  "  in- 
troduced the  octave  glissando,  a  cheap  virtuoso 
trick.  In  general  it  may  be  accepted  as  an  es- 
tablished fact  that  all  players  and  composers  of 
music  in  the  classical  style  since  Clementi  have 
based  their  technique  on  his  "  Gradus,"  and 
those  features  of  our  modern  playing  which 
cannot  be  found  therein  are  the  productions  of 
Liszt  and  the  other  romanticists.  It  is  only  in 
the  use  of  the  damper  pedal  that  players  not 
exclusively  romantic  have  exceeded  the  limits 
of  Clementi's  teaching. 

The  history  of  the  use  of  the  pedals  would  of 
itself  make  a  large  and  interesting  chapter,  but 
must  here  be  touched  briefly.  In  the  Ruckers 
harpsichords  an  attempt  to  reach  some  of  the 
effects  now  attained  by  pedals  was  made  "  by 
adding  to  the  two  unison  strings  of  each  note 
a  third  of  shorter  length  and  finer  wire,  tuned 
an  octave  higher,"  which  increased  the  power 
and  brilliancy  of  the  tone.     There  was  a  second 


1 66      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

keyboard,  and  stops  which  controlled  the  action 
of  the  jacks  on  the  strings.  Of  course  these 
contrivances  produced  a  very  limited  variety  of 
tone  effects.  I  have  tried  them  on  a  very  ex- 
cellent harpsichord  of  the  Mozart  period,  for- 
merly in  the  collection  of  M.  Steinert,  of  New 
Haven,  and  can  testify  that  only  a  moderate  in- 
crease of  tone  and  richness  are  obtained.  If  my 
memory  serves  me  rightly,  in  that  particular  in- 
strument the  necessity  of  moving  stops  with 
the  hands  had  been  obviated  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  pedals,  which  were  invented  by  Hay- 
ward,  an  Englishman,  in  1670.  Real  piano  and 
forte  pedals  first  appeared  in  1783,  when  they 
were  patented  by  John  Broadvvood.  Naturally 
pianists  soon  began  to  make  use  of  them,  and 
we  find  very  explicit  directions  for  the  use  of 
the  pedals  in  Beethoven's  piano  concerto  in  G 
and  in  the  sonatas,  opera  101,  106,  109,  no,  and 
in.  The  piano  pedal  was  extensively  used  by 
the  classic  players,  but  it  remained  for  Chopin  to 
show  how  both  pedals  could  be  employed  alter- 
nately or  in  combination  for  the  production  of 
the  most  beautiful  effects  of  tone-color.  Liszt, 
of  course,  elaborated  this  department  of  tech- 
nique, as  he  did  all  others.  It  is  hardly  neces- 
sary to  remind  the  reader  that  in  our  day  edu- 
cated   pianists    use   the   pedals    not   to   obtain 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  TECHNIQUE.      1 67 

contrasts  of  loudness  and  softness,  but  entirely 
in  the  production  of  tone-color.  The  infinite 
variety  of  qualities  of  tone  which  contempo- 
raneous artists,  like  D'Albert,  Rummel,  and 
others,  get  out  of  a  piano  is  wholly  due  to  a 
combination  of  many  different  kinds  of  touch 
with  changing  uses  of  the  pedals,  employing 
sometimes  one,  sometimes  the  other,  now  both, 
and  again  neither.  It  was  Chopin  who  revealed 
the  possibilities  of  the  pedal,  Liszt  who  per- 
fected the  powers  of  touch. 

The  whole  character  of  our  contemporary 
technique  is  the  result  of  romanticism  in  music. 
It  has  come  from  the  efforts  of  romantic  writers 
to  imbue  the  piano  with  a  greater  power  of 
emotional  utterance,  to  make  it  a  dramatic  force, 
and,  even  more  than  that,  a  personality.  Clas- 
sicism means  perfection  of  form,  unfailing 
beauty  of  thought  and  utterance.  It  is  the 
science  of  the  beautiful  in  music.  But  roman- 
ticism means  personality,  characterization,  in- 
dividual expression,  even  universal  revelation; 
and  it  has  no  hesitation  in  pouring  for*h  abrupl 
rhythms,  harsh  dissonance,  startling  progressions, 
when  these  speak  the  thought  of  the  composer. 
The  repose  and  suavity,  the  serenity  and  the 
dignity  of  all  that  was  noblest  in  the  age  of 
musical  sculpture  are  exhibited  by  the  romantic 


1 68      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

school  when  required ;  but  its  favorite  moods 
are  hot,  passionate,  changeful,  and  irresistible. 
For  these  the  utterance  of  the  piano  had  to  l<e 
widened.  The  polished  legato  of  Mozart  on  a 
scale  basis  could  not  serve  all  moods.  The 
rapid  thirds,  sixths,  and  chords  of  Clementi 
were  at  hand  and  were  needed,  as  also  was  the 
broad  phrase  and  great  color  of  Beethoven. 
But,  with  all  these  elements,  the  romanticists 
cried  for  more.  Schumann,  Chopin,  and  Liszt 
— two  immortal  composers  and  one  the  Stanley 
of  the  piano — unlocked  the  treasures  that  lay 
concealed  in  the  instrument.  The  first  and 
second,  having  immortal  creative  genius  to  let 
loose,  developed  technique  along  the  lines  sug- 
gested by  their  own  individualities ;  the  third, 
having  great  gifts  without  the  divine  spark,  de- 
veloped technique  in  a  direction  suggested  by 
the  various  possibilities  of  the  instrument  as  it 
yielded  up  its  hitherto  unexplored  territory  to 
him. 

Schumann's  ideas  did  not  at  first  seem  suited 
to  utterance  through  the  medium  of  the  piano; 
yet  it  was  equally  evident  that  they  were  not 
suited  to  any  other  instrument  nor  to  the  or- 
chestra. The  man  spoke  his  new  thought  in  a 
new  language,  to  which  the  piano  had  to  adapt 
itself  as  best  it  could.    To  speak  the  new  tongue 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE   TECHNIQUE.      169 

the  instrument  was  compelled  to  acquire  a  new- 
articulation,  which  we  call  the  Schumann  tech- 
nique. It  is  familiar  enough  to  us  now;  but  it 
was  strange  and  troublesome  at  first.  The  fun- 
damental reason  of  this  was  Schumann's  incom- 
pleteness of  training.  He  was  not  a  thoroughly 
schooled  musician,  and  his  technique  was  not 
based,  like  Chopin's,  on  an  exhaustive  mastery 
of  all  that  had  been  done  by  his  predecessors. 
I  am  aware  that  these  assertions  are  not  new. 
The  same  points  have  been  brought  out  by 
John  Comfort  Fillmore,  whose  "  History  of 
Piano  Music  "  I  cheerfully  commend  to  all  stu- 
dents of  the  divine  art.  But  they  are  facts,  and 
must  be  repeated  here.  The  new  difficulties  of 
the  Schumann  technique  consisted  in  obscure 
and  involved  rhythms,  in  peculiar  relations  of 
melodies  to  their  accompaniments,  in  the  un- 
usual use  of  extended  chords  in  difficult  posi- 
tions, and  in  the  participation  of  both  hands  in 
the  delivery  of  the  same  phrase.  This  catalogue 
of  novelties  does  not  look  formidable  at  first 
sight;  but  when  one  remembers  that  rhythm 
is  at  the  base  of  all  music,  and  that  any  wide 
change  in  it  upsets  the  entire  structure,  then  one 
perceives  that  the  strange  Schumann  rhythms, 
with  the  other  new  things  added,  must  have  de- 
manded execution  hitherto  unknown  to  the  pi- 


170      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

ano.  It  is  now  an  accepted  fact  that  mastery 
of  the  Schumann  technique  can  only  be  acquired 
by  means  of  special  exercises  not  necessary  to 
the  performance  of  piano  music  written  before 
Schumann's  time. 

If  I  was  asked  what  one  thing  lay  behind  the 
whole  difference  between  Schumann's  technique 
and  that  of  Chopin,  I  might  answer  rhythm. 
That  would  not  be  strictly  true,  for  no  one  thing 
accounts  for  the  whole  difference.  But  the  fact 
is  that  while  Schumann's  rhythms  are  strange, 
and  sometimes  almost  insoluble,  Chopin  pre- 
ferred forms  built  on  some  accepted  rhythm, 
such  as  the  valse,  mazourka,  polonaise.  The 
disguise  which  he  throws  around  these  forms  is 
one  of  idea  rather  than  of  technique.  The 
Chopin  technique,  new,  marvellous,  and  learned 
as  it  is,  never  obtrudes  itself.  This,  I  think, 
was  because  it  was  chiefly  concerned  with  a  re- 
modelling of  the  principles  of  a  beautiful  legato 
style.  Chopin  taught  us  how  to  play  chromatic 
passages  in  double  thirds  and  other  intervals 
legato  by  putting  the  fifth  finger  under  the 
fourth  and  third  in  descending,  and  the  third 
and  fourth  over  the  fifth  in  ascending.  He 
wrote  arpeggios  dispersed  in  wide  intervals  or 
so  interspersed  with  passing  notes  that  no  ear- 
lier  rules   of   fingering  would   apply  to   them. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF   THE    TECHNIQUE.       IJ I 

He,  therefore,  made  new  rules  by  which  the 
novel  successions  could  be  performed  with  cer- 
tainty. In  other  words,  it  was  reserved  for 
Chopin  to  finally  revolutionize  the  Bach 
method  of  scale  playing,  which  had  held  its 
influence  in  music  even  to  Beethoven's  day. 
Even  the  Clementi  technique  did  not  break 
through  the  old  limits ;  on  the  contrary,  it  re- 
mained within  them.  Its  principles  depended 
on  the  construction  of  compositions  from  five- 
finger  passages,  scales,  and  arpeggios.  Its  rules 
required  that  a  five-finger  position  once  taken 
should  not  be  changed  unnecessarily;  that  all 
passages  made  from  scales  and  arpeggios  should 
be  fingered  in  the  same  way  as  the  scales  and 
arpeggios  when  played  as  exercises;  that  the 
thumb  and  little  finger  should  not  be  used  on 
the  black  keys  except  under  extraordinary  de- 
mand. Chopin  overthrew  all  those  rules  and 
introduced  methods  of  fingering  which  would 
have  made  Clementi  stand  aghast,  but  which 
rendered  the  performance  of  the  new  music  pos- 
sible. 

Liszt  knew  all  that  Schumann  and  Chopin 
could  teach  him.  Using  their  improvements  in 
the  use  of  the  fingers,  together  with  his  own  de- 
vices, he  set  out  to  make  the  piano  the  rival  of 
the  orchestra  in  sonority,  brilliancy,  and  variety 


172      THE   EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

of  tone.  To  him  we  owe  the  deep  study  of  the 
possibilities  of  the  different  kinds  of  touch.  He 
showed  us  how  to  acquire  the  greatest  strength 
and  power  of  discriminative  emphasis  in  the  in- 
dividual fingers.  He  developed  the  resources 
of  the  loose  wrist,  showing  how  it  could  be  em- 
ployed to  produce  effects  previously  unknown. 
He  taught  us  to  hold  it  higher  than  had  before 
been  the  custom  and  to  have  it  quite  flexible, 
yet  in  such  a  position  that  the  fingers  had  all 
possible  mechanical  advantage  for  the  produc- 
tion of  a  powerful  tone.  The  etudes  which 
Liszt  composed  for  the  use  of  piano  students 
are  an  epitome  of  modern  technique.  They 
are  a  complete  revelation  of  the  resources  of  the 
instrument.  It  is  possible  that  the  future  may 
witness  a  further  development  of  piano  tech- 
nique ;  but  the  instrument  must  first  acquire 
new  powers.  Looking  back  over  what  has 
been  done  for  the  piano  by  inventive  minds  in 
the  last  fifty  years,  who  can  say  what  the  next 
century  may  produce?  Let  us  hope,  however, 
that  one  great  evil  will  not  come — the  loss  of 
the  character  of  the  instrument. 

The  lesson  of  the  growth  of  piano  technique 
is  the  same  as  that  taught  by  the  growth  of  or- 
chestral technique  and  of  vocal  power.  Look- 
ing back  over  the  history  of  music  we  find  that 


DEVELOPMENT  OF   THE   TECHNIQUE.       1 73 

a  very  simple  array  of  instruments  sufficed  for 
the  classic  ideas  of  Mozart,  while  the  tremen- 
dous romantic  conceptions  of  Wagner  called 
forth  all  the  resources  of  the  contemporaneous 
instrumental  army.  Before  romanticism  got  its 
hand  upon  the  pulse  of  opera,  the  rule  of  the 
legato  scale  school  extended  even  to  the  lyric 
stage,  and  all  Europe  sat  breathless  at  the  feet 
of  that  singer  who  could  sing  scales  and  trills 
faster  and  more  accurately  than  anyone  else. 
Romanticism  introduced  a  sort  of  Schumann 
technique  into  singing,  and  for  a  time  the  new 
style  was  deemed  foreign  to  the  human  voice. 
Only  a  few  years  ago  artists  declared  that  they 
could  not  sing  "  Tristan  und  Isolde."  Now  it 
is  familiar  wherever  music  is  truly  known.  The 
whole  development  of  technique  in  music  has 
been  brought  about  by  the  requirements  of  ro- 
mantic thought.  Wagner  epitomized  the  growth 
in  the  words  of  Hans  Sachs  in  "  Die  Meister- 
singer : " 

Nun  sang  er  wie  er  musst'  ! 
Und  wie  er  musst',  so  konnt'  er's. 

Which  may  be  translated  freely  thus : 

He  sang  but  as  his  thought  compelled, 
And  from  the  need  the  power  upwelled. 


III. — The  Modern  Concerto. 

The  influence  of  romanticism  in  piano-music 
did  not  cease  with  its  effect  on  technique.  It 
caused  also  a  revolution  in  form.  It  brought 
about  a  new  treatment  of  the  sonata  idea,  chang- 
ing the  outward  shape  and  intensifying  the  old 
spirit  of  unity  and  continuity  which  underlay, 
yet  never  fully  dominated,  the  classic  sonata 
form.  The  new  shape  grew  out  of  the  old,  yet 
is  different.  Both  are  conspicuous  examples  of 
adaptation  to  aesthetic  purpose.  The  purposes 
of  the  two  are  different,  yet  each  originated  in 
the  search  after  coherence. 

The  development  of  musical  forms  is  one  of 
the  most  interesting  studies  in  the  realm  of  the 
tone  art.  The  significance  of  the  developed 
form,  hovvever,  is  too  often  missed  ;  in  fact  it  is 
almost  wholly  overlooked  by  those  who  write 
on  the  subject.  The  technical  aspect  of  the 
growth  is  that  which  seems  to  interest  them 
most,  and  in  their  consideration  of  it  they  are 
led  away  from  the  more  profitable  examination 


THE  MODERN  CONCERTO.  1 75 

of  the  emotional  causes  which  produced  the 
successive  changes.  A  performance  of  the  B- 
minor  piano  concerto  of  Eugene  d' Albert,  with 
the  little  giant  himself  as  the  solo  player,  caused 
the  writer  to  realize  that  there  had  come  to  be 
an  almost  complete  dissociation  of  modern  ro- 
mantic thought  in  music  from  classical  forms. 

That  the  D'Albert  concerto  is  a  remarkable 
composition  is  a  conclusion  that  cannot  be 
avoided  when  listening  to  it,  and  at  its  end  one 
is  so  influenced  by  its  vigorous  vitality  that  he 
is  ready  to  declare  that  it  ought  to  live.  One 
has  a  similar  feeling  in  listening  to  the  piano 
concerto  of  Richard  Burmeister,  one  of  the 
loveliest  compositions  ever  produced  in  America, 
gentle  and  dignified  as  a  statue  of  Diana,  and 
differing  from  the  D'Albert  work  as  Diana's 
image  from  that  of  the  Farnese  Hercules.  The 
Burmeister  concerto  is  romantic  in  spirit,  but 
leans  toward  classicism  in  form,  while  the 
D'Albert  composition  at  once  raises  the  ques- 
tion in  the  hearer's  mind  whether  the  composer 
has  not  stepped  beyond  the  domain  of  the  piano, 
or  of  the  concerto,  or  of  both. 

The  question  is  a  natural  one,  but  it  is  far 
easier  to  ask  than  to  answer.  As  to  the  domain 
of  the  piano,  I  do  not  propose  to  enter  upon  a 
discussion  of  that  topic  for  the  reason  that  we 


176      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

know  not  what  the  future  has  in  store  for  us. 
Nor  can  I  decide  whether  D'Albert  has  stepped 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  concerto.  It  is  easier 
for  the  metaphysician  to  find  answers  for  the 
theories  of  materialists  than  for  the  student  of 
musical  progress  to  foretell  at  what  point  in- 
strumental composition  will  find  its  limits. 
One  thing  appears  to  be  beyond  doubt :  the 
D'Albert  concerto  is  in  a  direct  line  of  devel- 
opment which  has  been  going  forward  since 
Mozart's  time,  and  which  may  lead  to  the  rec- 
ognition of  a  new  form  distinct  from  the  con- 
certo. 

The  whole  matter  turns  upon  the  question, 
whether  we  are  to  recognize  in  the  contempo- 
raneous form  set  up  by  ultra-romanticists  a  pur- 
pose wholly  different  from  that  of  the  conven- 
tional concerto.  The  classical  concerto  was 
designed  to  display  the  technical  facility  of  the 
performer  and  the  resources  of  his  instrument 
without  sacrifice  of  musical  beauty  and  dignity. 
Such  a  concerto  as  that  of  D'Albert  relegates 
technical  achievements  and  musical  beauty  to  a 
secondary  place.  It  makes  them  subservient 
to  the  utterance  of  thoroughly  dramatic  ideas. 
It  elevates  the  orchestra  to  an  equality  with  the 
piano,  and  almost  wholly  deprives  the  latter  of 
its  character  as  a  solo  instrument  by  denuding 


THE   MODER.V  CO.VCERTO.  1/7 

its  part  of  what  I  must  for  lack  of  a  better  word 
call  pianism.  The  solo  part  has  few  or  none  of 
those  passages  in  which  the  special  character  of 
the  piano  is  made  known.  The  instrument  is 
treated  orchestrally,  and  its  share  of  the  con- 
certo becomes  part  and  parcel  of  the  complete 
utterance  of  the  composer ;  in  fact  he  writes 
simply  a  symphonic  poem  for  two  orchestras, 
the  piano  being  used  as  the  second  orchestra, 
and  the  two  instrumental  factors  being  employed 
with  varying  force.  Sometimes  it  is  the  orches- 
tra which  is  the  chief  speaker;  again  it  is  the 
piano.  And  nearly  every  trace  of  the  form  of 
the  classical  concerto  has  disappeared.  The 
new  thing  is,  as  I  have  intimated,  an  adaptation 
of  Liszt's  contrivance,  the  symphonic  poem,  a 
form  based  on  the  assumption  that  there  is  no 
break  between  any  two  successive  emotional 
states ;  hence  there  is  no  disconnection  of  the 
several  movements.  If  we  choose  to  call  such 
a  composition  as  D'Albert's  a  concerto,  we  must 
admit  that,  while  it  is  the  descendant  of  the 
Mozart  form  (which  is  a  variety  of  the  true 
classic  sonata),  it  is  totaly  changed  in  purpose, 
shape,  content,  and  technical  treatment. 

Writers  on  musical  theory  are  fond  of  saying 
that  Mozart  settled  the  form  of  the  modern  con- 
certo, and  then  proceeding  to  give  an  account 

12 


178      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

of  the  concerto's  growth,  which  conclusively 
proves  that  the  glorious  boy  did  nothing  of  the 
sort.  Mozart  laid  the  foundation  of  the  modern 
concerto  by  giving  us  a  form  absolutely  perfect 
for  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  designed.  The 
purpose,  however,  is  gone.  We  no  longer  aim 
at  a  mere  display  of  the  power  of  an  instrument 
as  an  explicator  and  embellisher  of  ideas  which 
are  admirable  wholly  for  their  pure  euphonic 
beauty.  "  Ausdruck  der  Empfindung  " — expres- 
sion of  emotion — as  Beethoven  put  it,  is  the 
slogan  of  contemporaneous  music. 

Mozart  made  a  form  which  in  and  for  itself 
was  beautiful  and  unsurpassable.  But  when 
Beethoven  came  as  the  culmination  of  the  classic 
and  the  father  of  the  romantic  school,  the  form 
had  to  give  way  to  variations  made  necessary  by 
the  expression  of  new  thoughts  and  the  birth  of 
new  purposes.  These  changes  in  form  have 
been  going  on  ever  since  without  cessation,  and 
it  is  impossible  to  say  where  they  will  end.  The 
Mozart  form  is  not  dead.  There  is  no  reason 
why  it  should  be.  If  any  man  to-day  desires  to 
write  a  piano  concerto  in  which  there  is  to  be  an 
exposition  of  pure  euphonic  beauty  and  perfect 
symmetry,  the  perfect  form  is  ready  to  his  hand. 
For  his  purpose  he  cannot  in  all  probability  in- 
vent anything  better  than  the  Mozart  model ; 


THE  MODERN  CONCERTO.  1 79 

but  if  he  wishes  to  write  in  the  spirit  of  his  time, 
there  is  nothing  in  the  canons  of  art  to  forbid 
his  altering  the  old  form  or  making  a  new  one. 
All  that  art  demands  of  a  form  is  that  it  shall 
be  the  best  for  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  de- 
signed. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  enter  into  a  review  of 
the  steps  in  the  development  of  the  modern  con- 
certo. Those  who  care  to  look  into  the  matter 
will  find  sufficient  information  within  easy  reach. 
It  may  not  be  unprofitable,  however,  to  point 
out  one  or  two  salient  features.  In  the  first  place 
modern  composers,  beginning  with  Beethoven, 
have  shown  a  tendency  to  abandon  the  cere- 
monious introductory  tutti,  in  which  the  or- 
chestra made  a  prolonged  announcement  of  the 
themes. 

Again,  Beethoven  set  the  fashion  of  writing 
his  own  cadenzas,  instead  of  leaving  them  to  the 
fancy  of  the  performer.  Furthermore,  he  intro- 
duced the  novelty  of  accompanying  the  cadenza 
— or  at  least  part  of  it — thereby  completely 
changing  its  character,  purpose,  and  effect. 
Mendelssohn  went  further,  and  placed  the 
cadenza  of  his  violin  concerto  in  the  middle  in- 
stead of  at  the  end  of  the  first  movement.  All 
composers,  save  one  or  two,  since  Mozart  have 
developed  the  orchestral  part   of  the  concerto, 


1 80      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

thus  leading  up  to  the  advent  of  genuinely 
symphonic  productions  like  D'Albert's. 

The  joining  of  the  three  conventional  move- 
ments of  the  concerto  was  suggested  by  Beet- 
hoven when,  for  the  sake  of  avoiding  an  inter- 
ruption of  his  thought,  he  united  the  second  and 
third  movements  of  the  G  and  E  flat  major  piano 
concertos.  Later  writers,  notably  Liszt,  went 
further  and  joined  all  three  movements.  More- 
over, the  Abbe  adopted  the  plan,  employed  by 
Schumann  in  his  D  minor  symphony,  of  carry- 
ing forward  the  thematic  germs  of  one  move- 
ment into  the  next.  Liszt's  A  major  concerto, 
for  instance,  has  several  connected  movements 
built  on  the  same  melodic  subjects  through- 
out. 

Some  commentators  have  denied  Liszt's  con- 
certos the  right  to  be  classed  as  concertos.  It 
matters  very  little  what  they  are  called.  They 
certainly  are  not  concertos  of  the  same  kind  as 
Mozart's  were.  Their  object  is  wider,  and  their 
shape  is  altered  thereby.  D'Albert's  concerto  is 
a  natural  outgrowth  of  the  developments  we 
have  noted.  He  has  abandoned  the  introductory 
tutti,  the  separated  movements,  the  formal,  un- 
accompanied cadenza  of  the  first  part,  and  the 
difference  of  themes.  His  concerto  has  four  con- 
nected movements  in  which  the  same  melodic 


THE  MODERN  CONCERTO.  l8l 

material  is  employed,  and  his  cadenza  is  placed 
near  the  end  of  the  whole  work,  where  it  is  the 
beginning  of  a  climax  simply  stupendous  in 
technical  difficulty  and  musical  utterance. 

If  Liszt's  so-called  concertos  are  not  concertos, 
D'Albert's  certainly  is  not.  It  may  be  that  in 
the  future  educated  musical  taste  will  decide  to 
apply  the  term  concerto  only  to  compositions  in 
the  Mozartian,  or,  at  any  rate,  the  Beethovenian 
form,  and  to  give  the  new  style  a  title  of  its  own 
which  shall  more  aptly  describe  its  character. 
Musical  nomenclature  is  very  limited  and  often 
inadequate,  and  it  may  be  that  none  of  us  will 
trouble  ourselves  much  about  the  name  of  a  com- 
position as  long  as  it  is  so  charged  with  matter 
as  this  piano  work  of  D'Albert's.  But  com- 
posers are  certainly  moving  toward  a  very  differ- 
ent combination  of  the  piano  and  orchestra  from 
that  of  so  recent  a  time  as  Schumann's.  Whether 
the  new  style,  so  full  of  dramatic  power,  is  better 
than  that  of  Beethoven's  last  period,  or  than 
Schumann's,  it  is  too  soon  to  decide.  It  is 
certainly  more  ambitious,  and  therein  lies  a 
danger,  for  the  fate  of  vaulting  ambition  is  fa- 
miliar. 

One  thing  must  undoubtedly  be  borne  in  mind 
in  considering  this  matter,  and  that  is  the  splen- 
did development  of  the  piano.     The  resources 


1 82      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

of  the  instrument,  as  every  one  must  have  real- 
ized while  listening  to  the  piano  performances 
of  the  last  few  seasons,  are  now  beyond  the 
fondest  dreams  of  Beethoven  and  the  wildest 
imagination  of  Mozart.  Rubinstein  in  one  of  his 
concertos  has  set  forth  his  idea  that  the  piano  is 
the  equal  and  the  rival  of  the  orchestra.  There 
is  a  substantial  foundation  for  this  thought.  In 
power  the  piano  yields  only  to  the  boldest  for- 
tissimo of  a  full  modern  orchestra.  In  feeling 
it  gives  way  to  the  violin  and  'cello,  but  in  variety 
and  extent  of  tone-color  and  dynamic  gradations 
it  surpasses  them. 

D'Albert  has  employed  the  solo  instrument 
with  superb  effect,  both  alone  and  in  combina- 
tions, in  his  B  minor  concerto.  Some  of  his 
passages — for  instance,  those  in  which  stopped 
horns  accompany  the  piano,  are  marvellous  in 
their  intensity.  As  we  said  before,  the  whole 
work  is  surprising  and  masterful.  If  the  ad- 
vance of  compositions  for  piano  and  orchestra 
designed  to  embody  the  concentrated  and  com- 
plex emotional  feeling  of  the  new  romantic 
school  is  to  be  along  the  line  foreshadowed  by 
Beethoven  and  developed  by  Liszt,  there  is 
probably  no  man  living  more  competent  to  con- 
duct the  march  of  progress  than  that  little  giant 
of  the  pianoforte,  Eugene  d'Albert ;  and  it  is  be- 


THE  MODERN  CONCERTO.  1 83 

yond  question  that  the  term  concerto  is  both 
feeble  and  inexpressive.  I  do  not  like  the  name 
symphonic  poem.  It  is  awkward  and  mislead- 
ing* yet  musical  nomenclature  is  so  barren  that 
I  do  not  blame  Liszt  for  adopting  such  a  title. 
It  would  certainly  be  a  more  fitting  appellation 
for  such  compositions  as  that  of  D'Albert  than 
concerto. 

But  by  whatever  name  we  may  call  these 
works  —  and  D'Albert's  being  in  the  direct 
line  of  development  will  not  be  the  last  of 
them — we  must  recognize  the  fact  that  they 
open  a  field  for  the  piano  which  no  prophet 
could  have  foreseen  when  Scarlatti  was  defining 
the  rudiments  of  technique,  or  even  when  Bach 
was  making  those  rules  of  fingering  which  we 
still  admire  and  practise.  We  have  followed  in 
this  review  of  the  evolution  of  piano  music  a 
long  and  marvellous  series  of  advances.  Look- 
ing back  over  them  we  must  perceive  that  the 
tendency  has  always  been  toward  greater  power 
and  wider  range  of  effects  in  technique,  toward 
concentration  in  ideas  and  intensification  of 
feeling.  The  natural  results  of  these  tenden- 
cies, as  exemplified  first  in  the  Clementi  tech- 
nique, afterward  in  the  Schumann  technique,  in 
the  connected  movements  of  the  G  and  E  flat 
concertos  of  Beethoven,  and  later  in  the  con- 


1 84      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

tinuous  movements  and  reiterated  fundamental 
melody  of  the  Liszt  concertos,  are  seen  in  such 
a  work  as  the  B-minor  concerto  of  D'Albert. 
From  the  mountain  spring  to  the  sea  is  a  far 
cry ;  but  one  can  trace  the  river  all  the  way. 


IV.— Some  Living  Players. 

It  would  be  a  pity  to  leave  the  piano  without 
a  word  or  two  about  contemporaneous  players. 
All  that  we  have  been  reviewing  in  the  evo- 
lution of  piano  music  would  be  but  a  sealed 
book  to  most  of  us  were  it  not  for  the  eloquent 
exposition  of  the  great  performers  of  our  day. 
In  a  single  chronological  recital  we  get  an  in- 
sight into  the  history  of  technical  and  aestheti- 
cal  development  that  no  printed  pages  can  give. 
There  are  many  persons  in  every  audience,  to 
be  sure,  who  do  not  get  this  insight,  for  the 
piano  is  fashionable  and  many  learn  it  simply 
as  an  accomplishment. 

But  those  who  have  some  talent  penetrate 
deeper  into  the  mysteries  of  the  instrument  and 
learn  to  recognize  some  of  the  higher  qualities 
of  technique,  and  even  to  catch  an  inkling  of 
the  aesthetic  basis  of  the  player's  work.  This 
insight  into  the  inner  consciousness  of  the  piano 
is  becoming  more  widely  spread,  and  the  result 
is  that  good  piano-playing  is  beginning  to  get 


1 86      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

something  like  real  appreciation.  The  number 
of  those  who  can  discriminate  between  mere 
technical  brilliancy  and  real  musical  feeling  is 
constantly  growing,  and  any  pianist  who  comes 
before  a  musical  public  at  the  present  day  is 
fairly  sure  of  an  intelligent  hearing.  This  is  a 
good  thing  for  the  good  players,  but  it  is  mani- 
festly bad  for  the  poor  ones.  As  time  passes 
there  is  bound  to  be  less  and  less  toleration  for 
mediocrity  and  little  pity  for  pretentious  inca- 
pacity. The  pounders  and  the  mutilators  must 
go  to  the  wall  and  make  room  for  those  who 
can  speak  distinctly,  beautifully,  and  eloquently 
through  the  medium  of  the  most  popular  solo 
instrument  of  our  time. 

Those  who  do  so  speak  are,  as  intimated,  the 
greatest  gainers  from  the  development  of  public 
taste.  The  number  of  persons  who  can  tell  the 
differences  between  the  playing  of  men  like 
D'Albert  and  Von  Biilow  is  much  larger  than 
it  was  a  few  years  ago.  This  has  come  about 
through  the  energetic  and  self-reliant  attitude 
of  music  lovers.  The  people  who  really  know 
and  understand  music  are  in  the  habit  nowa- 
days of  thinking  for  themselves  a  good  deal. 
To  be  sure,  they  read  much,  and  take  their 
Schur6  or  Wolzogen  in  large  doses,  and  they 
look  at  the  newspapers.     But  they  reserve  for 


SOME  LIVING  PLAYERS.  1 87 

themselves  the  liberty  of  taking  everything  on 
trial  and  coming  to  their  own  conclusions  at 
last.  The  newspaper  comments  on  current  mu- 
sical events  are  read  by  most  lovers  of  music; 
but,  as  a  rule,  they  serve  chiefly  to  stimulate  the 
readers  to  thoughtfulness  and  the  formation  of 
their  own  opinions.  It  is  a  good  thing  that  this 
is  so.  The  benefit  of  criticism  is  much  greater 
when  it  induces  people  to  think  independently 
than  when  it  gains  blind  adherence. 

Among  contemporaneous  pianists  conspicu- 
ous figures  are  Von  Biilow,  D'Albert,  Rummel, 
Rosenthal,  and — so  far  as  America  is  concerned 
— Joseffy.  Dr.  von  Biilow  is,  perhaps,  greater 
for  what  he  represents  than  for  what  he  is.  It 
may  be  that  we  must  view  something  of  his 
present  through  the  roseate  glory  of  his  past ; 
but  standing  at  the  summit  of  sixty-two  years 
of  life  and  thirty -nine  years  of  musical  expe- 
rience, resting  upon  the  laurels  of  triumphant 
victory  in  the  battle  of  the  new  German  school, 
first  for  existence  and  then  for  supremacy, 
wielding  as  executant,  teacher,  and  conductor 
an  influence  which  radiates  from  Berlin  to  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth,  Dr.  von  Biilow  looms 
up  as  an  intensely  absorbing  personality  and  a 
conspicuously  important  figure  in  the  musical 
progress  of  the  day. 


1 88      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

Moritz  Rosenthal  is  a  pianistic  whirlwind. 
The  impression  he  made  on  me  at  a  first  hearing 
was  that  he  literally  paralyzed  the  sensibilities 
of  his  audience.  Stupefied  by  such  an  exhibi- 
tion of  technical  perfection  and  physical  power 
as  had  not  been  known  since  the  springtime  of 
Rubenstein,  his  first  hearers  momentarily  forgot 
that  there  was  spirituality  in  music  and  went 
mad  over  its  bodily  strength  and  beauty.  Yet 
Rosenthal's  playing  was  far  from  being  devoid 
of  musical  feeling.  Sometimes  he  was  really 
eloquent;  but  it  seemed  that  his  eloquence  was 
sporadic  and  governed  largely  by  the  mood  of 
the  moment.  This  is  not  consistent  with  the 
true  artist's  singleness  of  purpose.  Again,  there 
were  times  when  Rosenthal  showed  high  intel- 
ligence. His  performance  of  Beethoven's  sonata 
in  E  flat  major  (No.  3)  was  more  satisfactory  to 
the  true  musician  than  most  of  his  other  work. 
He  played  the  composition  in  a  manly,  straight- 
forward, honest  style,  presenting  the  themes  and 
their  development  in  a  very  intelligible  manner. 
It  was  a  thoughtful  interpretation,  worthy  not 
only  of  an  eminent  pianist,  but  of  a  man  of  cult- 
ure. Again,  Rosenthal  was  sometimes  a  mu- 
sical poet,  as,  for  instance,  when  he  played  Cho- 
pin's E  minor  concerto.  He  had  penetrated  to 
the  soul  of  that  composition  and  knew  how  to 


SOME  LIVING  PLAYERS.  1 89 

lay  it  bare  before  his  hearers.  His  exposition 
of  the  themes  was  unsurpassed  in  its  justice  and 
eloquence.  His  treatment  of  the  involved  pas- 
sages was  vital  with  the  most  subtle  delicacy  of 
feeling,  couched  in  a  tone  that  was  absolutely 
caressing.  His  color  was  soft  as  September 
haze  and  warm  as  June  sunset;  his  touch  was 
as  sweet  and  as  moist  as  dew.  But  the  entire 
reserve  of  his  technique  was  completely  subor- 
dinated to  a  faithful  rendering  of  the  composer's 
poetry.  It  was  a  performance  which  made  us 
willing  to  accord  him  a  position  in  the  front 
rank  of  pianists. 

Yet  when  he  played  Schumann's  "  Carnaval," 
in  a  most  uneven  manner,  he  demonstrated  that 
he  had  not  achieved  greatness.  He  gave  the 
"  Preambule"  with  superb  breadth,  dignity,  and 
volume  of  tone.  The  "  Eusebius  "  he  actually 
interpreted,  giving  its  delicious  voice-parts  their 
relative  value,  imparting  to  the  whole  passage  a 
soft  and  organ-like  tone-color,  and  imbuing  it 
with  something  of  the  wistful  mysticism  re- 
vealed to  us  in  that  particular  mood  of  his  own 
personality  called  by  Schumann  Eusebius.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  played  the  "Valse  Alle- 
mande  "  with  a  ridiculously  affected  tempo  ru- 
bato,  and  he  fairly  burlesqued  the  quiet  humor 
of  the  march  of  the  "  Davidsbiindler."     What 


190      THE    EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

was  it  that  this  brilliant  young  pianist  most 
lacked  ?  It  was  repose,  without  which  no  lofty 
art-work  is  possible.  Technically  this  failing 
showed  itself  in  a  tendency  to  play  many 
phrases  in  a  manner  best  described  by  that  un- 
pleasant word  "jerky."  ^sthetically  it  showed 
itself  in  a  want  of  even  balance  of  ideas.  But 
Rosenthal  is  a  thinker  and  a  student ;  his  time 
will  come.  I  agree  with  Heinrich  Ehrlich.  Ros- 
enthal has  reached  the  topmost  peak  of  virtu- 
osity. There  he  will  spread  his  wings  for  flight 
toward  the  sky  of  musical  feeling. 

Eugene  d'Albert  I  have  already  called  the 
little  giant  of  the  pianoforte.  Here  is  a  man 
even  smaller  than  Rosenthal,  and  with  a  tech- 
nique as  great  as  the  Roumanian's.  To  describe 
Rosenthal's  technical  ability  would  be  to  sum- 
marize the  entire  field  of  piano  mechanics  as 
known  to  the  virtuosity  of  to-day.  The  same 
thing  is  to  be  said  of  D'Albert,  but  something  is 
to  be  added.  There  is  a  greater  man  than  Ro- 
senthal behind  the  technique.  There  is  a  more 
intense  and  vital  individuality,  a  deeper  and 
subtler  temperament,  a  more  highly  gifted  and 
roundly  developed  intellectuality.  D'Albert  is 
not  only  a  great  pianist,  but  also  a  great  musi- 
cian. He  is  a  thinker,  an  analyzer,  an  explica- 
tor.     The  marvellous  technique  of  the  player 


SOME  LIVIMG  PLAYERS.  191 

renders  the  mechanical  performance  of  any  mu- 
sic facile  to  him.  The  artistic  temperament  fills 
the  execution  with  passion  and  vitality.  The 
brain  controls  the  whole  and  fashions  it  into 
a  well-rounded,  luminous,  influential  exposition. 
It  is  hardly  necessary  to  mention  specially  any 
details  of  D'Albert's  style.  One  thing,  however, 
which  struck  me  may  be  worth  noting.  His  de- 
licious tempo  rubato  undoibtedly  puzzles  some 
of  his  hearers.  He  obeys  the  spirit,  but  not 
the  letter,  of  Chopin's  injunction  to  preserve  the 
tempo  with  the  left  hand,  letting  the  right  some- 
times run  ahead  and  sometimes  linger  behind. 
Whenever  the  chief  thematic  utterance  passes 
into  the  left  hand,  D'Albert  transfers  the  tempo 
rubato  with  it.  The  effect  is  striking.  At  times 
it  is  dramatic.  It  adds  to  his  work  a  variety  of 
fruitful  nuances  which  to  the  untrained  hearer 
increase  the  complexity  of  his  playing.  But 
complexity  is  often  a  feature  of  higher  types  in 
art  as  well  as  in  biology.  D'Albert's  supremacy 
as  a  performer  of  Beethoven's  concertos  must 
not  be  forgotten.  His  wonderful  rendering  of 
the  G  major  concerto  ought  to  be  long  remem- 
bered by  lovers  of  piano  music.  It  was  ideal  in 
its  perfection.  In  loftiness  of  conception  it  was 
beautiful.  In  finish  of  technical  treatment  it 
was  wonderful.     We  hear  much  about  the  art  of 


192      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

singing  on  the  pianoforte,  but  we  seldom  meet 
with  a  genuine  example.  D'Albert's  vocal  pres- 
entation of  the  second  movement  of  this  concer- 
to transformed  the  piano  into  something  almost 
human  ;  and  his  treatment  of  the  cadenza  of 
the  first  movement  was  in  itself  an  education  in 
piano-playing.  His  performance  of  the  "  Em- 
peror "  concerto  was  another  splendid  achieve- 
ment. The  pianist  did  not  astound  with  his 
reading,  but  he  certainly  moved  the  heart  and 
fired  the  imagination.  No  one  else  whom  I  have 
heard  has  played  this  loftiest  poem  of  the  piano 
with  such  manliness,  solidity,  fidelity,  and  sym- 
metry. 

Yet  there  is  something  lacking  in  D'Albert. 
He  is,  of  course,  not  perfect.  The  same  just- 
ness of  conception  and  rounded  finish  of  pres- 
entation as  he  showed  in  the  Beethoven  works 
were  not  always  conspicuous  in  his  performances. 
A  few  quotations  from  Adolf  Christiani's  inter- 
esting book  on  the  "  Principles  of  Expression  in 
Pianoforte  Playing"  will  be  instructive  here. 
He  says : 

"  Talent  implies  a  peculiar  aptitude  for  a 
special  employment ;  hence  pianistic  talent  im- 
plies a  peculiar  aptitude  for  that  particular 
branch  of  musical  art.  ...  A  pianist  may 
be  a  great  specialist  without  being  much  of  a 


SOME  LIVING  PLAYERS.  1 93 

musician,  but  to  be  a  truly  great  artist  he  should 
be  an  accomplished  musician  also."  He  must 
have  emotion,  which  will  make  him  all  warmth 
and  feeling.  Emotion  is  "that  sixth  sense, 
'  the  power  of  conceiving  and  divining  the  beau- 
tiful,' which  is  the  exclusive  gift  of  God  to  the 
artist.  ...  It  involves  the  germs  and  in- 
stinct of  several  minor  faculties,  such  as  natural 
taste  and  instinctive  discrimination  ;  these,  how- 
ever, like  talent,  in  order  to  become  perfect,  de- 
pend on  intellectual  training.  Then  only  does 
natural  taste  become  cultured  refinement  and  in- 
stinctive discrimination  become  sound  judg- 
ment." 

"  The  term  intelligence,"  the  author  contin- 
ues, "  presupposes  capacity,  and  comprises  all 
musical  attainments  that  are  teachable.  .  .  . 
It  requires  each  and  every  musical  attainment 
acquirable  by  the  exercise  of  thought  and  mind, 
including  self-control,  mastery  of  emotion,  and 
repose.  Intelligence  aids  and  corrects  talent ; 
it  guides  and  regulates  emotion,  and  directs 
technique." 

"  Technique,"  he  says  further,  "  is,  in  a  cer- 
tain sense,  the  opposite  of  aesthetics ;  inasmuch 
as  aesthetics  have  to  do  with  the  perceptions 
of  a  work  of  art  and  technique  with  the  em- 
bodiment of  it.  .  .  .  Therefore,  technique 
13 


194      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

comprises  more  than  mechanism.  Mechanism 
is  merely  the  manual  part  of  technique,  not 
requiring  any  directing  thought ;  technique, 
however,  requires  thought.  For  example :  as 
to  fingering,  which  precedes  mechanism  ;  as  to 
tempo,  which  governs  mechanism ;  as  to  force, 
which  qualifies  mechanism  ;  as  to  touch,  which 
ennobles  mechanism." 

Apply  these  considerations  to  D'Albert.  In 
emotion  he  is  pre-eminent.  He  certainly  has 
the  "  power  of  conceiving  and  divining  the 
beautiful."  And  his  natural  taste  has  become 
cultured  refinement;  his  instinctive  discrimina- 
tion sound  judgment.  His  special  pianistic  tal- 
ent is  beyond  a  moment's  doubt.  And  his  tech- 
nique is  gigantic.  The  only  one  of  Christiani's 
departments  in  which  D'Albert  is  still  lack- 
ing is  intelligence.  He  has  not  yet  acquired 
perfect  self-control,  mastery  of  emotion,  and  re- 
pose. He  is  not  always  able  to  preserve  the 
delicate  mental  state  of  Chopin  in  his  feminine 
moods.  Of  Chopin  in  his  masculine  moods  he 
is  a  superb  explicator.  But  D'Albert's  fiery  in- 
dividuality breaks  the  bonds  of  Chopin,  the 
female,  at  times,  and  translates  the  ultra-refined 
ideas  into  a  sterner  utterance  than  befits  them, 
and  so  shocks  our  sensibilities.  We  may  readily 
forgive  him  this,  for  his  tremendous  masculinity 


SOME  LIVING  PLAYERS.  1 95 

makes  him  a  grand  preacher  of  the  gospel  ac- 
cording to  Beethoven.  He  is  very  young,  and 
his  blood  is  hot.  The  judgment  is  ripening,  and 
self-control,  mastery  of  emotion,  and  repose  will 
come  with  the  years.  Repose  is  the  consumma- 
tion of  artistic  development.  It  is  the  child  of 
time  and  study.  We  must  not  demand  it  in  a 
mere  youth.  He  must  accomplish  his  develop- 
ment normally.  To  have  attained  mastery  of 
emotion  and  repose  at  his  age  would  presuppose 
the  quelling  of  the  fire  of  youth.  D'Albert  is 
already  great.  He  will  be  greater  if  the  world 
does  not  spoil  him,  as  it  loves  to  spoil  artists. 
Perhaps  the  impulses  in  this  little  man  are  too 
large  to  be  checked  by  the  world's  adulation. 
For  the  sake  of  art  let  us  hope  so. 

Mr.  Joseffy  has  always  impressed  the  writer 
as  being  deficient  in  elevation  of  sentiment.  The 
limitations  of  his  technique  cannot  be  at  present 
defined  because  he  has  of  late  sought  to  make 
certain  changes  in  its  character.  His  playing 
was  formerly  distinguished  by  crystalline  purity 
and  clearness,  coupled  with  a  delicacy  and  neat- 
ness which  transformed  everything  he  touched 
into  a  sort  of  Queen  Mab  scherzo.  But  recently 
Mr.  Joseffy  has  aimed  at  breadth  and  power. 
He  is  seeking  for  a  deeper  dramatic  note,  but  I 
am  not  quite  sure  that  he  is  justified  in  doing 


I96      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

so.  It  is  better  for  the  executive  musician  to  be 
perfect  within  a  limited  field  than  imperfect  out- 
side of  it.  But  it  is  beyond  dispute  that  Mr. 
Joseffy  has  gained  in  depth  and  dignity  in  the 
last  ten  years,  and  his  future  may  demonstrate 
that  the  line  of  his  advance  has  been  wisely 
chosen.  One  thing  is  certain  :  he  has  fairly 
earned  a  place  in  the  front  rank  of  pianists — a 
fact  which  is  more  and  more  fully  demonstrated 
when  he  is  brought  into  comparison  with  artists 
acknowledged  to  be  of  the  first  order. 

This  study  would  be  incomplete  without  some 
reference  to  so  noble  an  artist  as  Franz  Rummel. 
I  confess  without  hesitation  that  I  do  not  know 
just  where  to  place  Rummel.  If  it  were  not  for 
a  certain  hardness  of  style,  which  obtrudes  itself 
at  times,  and  which  seems  to  me  to  be  the  out- 
come of  an  over-elaborate  adjustment  of  tech- 
nical means  with  a  view  to  reaching  just  the  ex- 
act effect  sought  by  the  player,  I  should  put 
Rummel  ahead  of  all  these  pianists.  Perhaps 
he  ought  to  be  placed  there  anyhow.  He  cer- 
tainly is  a  great  pianist  and  belongs  in  the  front 
rank.  His  development  has  been  notably  sane 
and  logical.  In  former  years  he  was  all  emo- 
tion. He  had  no  self-control,  and  his  tem- 
perament fairly  ran  away  with  him.  All  that  is 
past,  however.     I  had  the  good  fortune  to  hear 


SOME  LIVING  PLAYERS.  1 97 

htm  frequently  in  the  season  of  1890-91,  after 
not  hearing  him  for  three  years.  It  was  im- 
mediately evident  that  the  old  accusation  of  a 
lack  of  symmetry  and  repose  could  no  longer  be 
brought  against  him. 

At  the  first  concert  in  which  I  heard  him  he 
played  Beethoven's  G  major  and  Liszt's  E  flat 
concertos.  The  newly  developed  qualities  of 
the  artist's  work  were  shown  in  a  high  light  in 
the  first  selection.  His  reading  of  the  noble 
composition  was  scholarly  in  its  justice,  master- 
ful in  its  sympathetic  warmth  and  wide  scope  of 
feeling,  luminous  in  the  varied  picturesqueness 
of  its  color,  and  stamped  with  the  finish  of  lofty 
art  in  its  dignity  and  repose.  All  the  fiery  im- 
petuosity of  the  man's  temperament  remained. 
His  emotional  force  was  as  strong  as  it  ever  had 
been,  but  the  period  of  defiance  of  government 
was  passed.  The  emotional  power  was  held  in 
the  grasp  of  a  strong  and  commanding  intel- 
ligence, which  guided  it  with  firmness  and 
wisdom.  It  would  have  been  an  impossibility 
for  any  hearer  to  rightly  measure  the  amount 
of  study  and  self-control  displayed  in  such  a  per- 
formance as  Mr.  Rummel  gave  on  the  occa- 
sion under  consideration.  To  approach  such  a 
judgment  would  require  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  the  pianist's  methods  of  private  labor 


I98      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

as  well  as  with  the  changeful  nature  of  his  strong 
moods.  But  remembering  that  the  player  but 
a  few  years  ago  had  been  a  creature  of  unbridled 
emotion,  playing  from  impulse  rather  than  idea, 
I  could  not  avoid  marvelling  at  the  breadth  and 
depth  of  artistic  devotion  which  this  growth, 
accomplished  in  three  years,  plainly  revealed. 
Where  Rummel  seems  to  me  to  fall  short  of 
the  highest  possible  achievement  is  in  the  low- 
est department  of  his  art — technique.  There  is 
a  lack  of  spontaneity  in  his  tone-color,  beautiful 
as  it  often  is.  The  mechanism  is  too  often  ex- 
posed. The  effort  of  the  player  to  accomplish 
the  design  of  the  artist  is  betrayed. 

As  for  Dr.  Von  Biilow,  the  special  trait  of  his 
ability  which  gives  him  his  position  is  easily 
discernible.  Indeed,  it  is  frequently  obtrusive. 
He  is  the  highest  living  embodiment  of  musical 
intelligence.  He  has  acquired,  in  the  most  per- 
fect degree,  self-control,  mastery  of  emotion,  and 
repose.  It  has  been  said  that  he  is  deficient  in 
emotion.  Doubtless  there  is  some  truth  in  this. 
The  time  has  been  when,  if  Dr.  von  Biilow  had 
possessed  as  much  emotional  warmth  as  intelli- 
gence, he  would  have  been  the  ideal  pianist,  and 
the  boundaries  of  piano-playing  would  have  been 
defined.  Happily  for  art  and  artists,  the  doctor 
was  cold,  and  the  world  is  still  waiting  and  seek- 


SOME  LIVING  PLAYERS.  1 99 

ing.  All  the  musical  emotion  which  he  has  is 
under  the  most  complete  control  of  his  brain. 
Personal  feeling  never  gets  the  better  of  him. 
He  is  always  an  objective  player,  striving  to  in- 
terpret the  composer,  not  himself.  Therein  he 
differs  widely  from  D'Albert,  who  often  projects 
his  own  personality  in  too  brilliant  a  light  upon 
the  musical  picture  which  he  is  painting.  Dr. 
von  Biilow  is  always  an  interpreter,  revitalizing 
for  us  the  thoughts  of  Bach,  Mozart,  Beethoven, 
and  Schumann  with  reverential  fidelity  and  a 
remarkable  range  of  technical  styles.  To  listen 
to  one  of  his  recitals  is  to  live  in  turn  with  each 
of  the  composers  on  the  programme.  Dr.  von 
Biilow  gives  contemporaneous  human  interest 
to  dead  composers  not  by  modernizing  them,  as 
so  many  weaker  artists  do,  but  by  taking  his  au- 
dience back  with  him  into  their  time. 

The  doctor  is  failing  in  technical  power,  but  he 
is  still  a  most  instructive  pianist.  We  may  be  as- 
tonished, electrified,  paralyzed  by  the  others  ;  we 
are  convinced  by  the  doctor.  But  let  us  remem- 
ber that  without  emotion  the  supreme  pinnacle 
of  performance  cannot  be  reached.  Experience, 
deep  and  thoughtful  study,  and  arduous  practice 
have  made  Dr.  von  Biilow  what  he  is,  or  rather 
what  he  was.  But  with  all  his  thought  he  can- 
not move  a  hearer  as  D'Albert  or  Rummel  can. 


200      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO   MUSIC. 

In  closing  this  brief  view  of  the  work  of  some 
living  pianists  something  must  be  said  of  one 
whose  personal  magnetism  is  so  great  that  it 
sometimes  obscures  the  real  nature  of  his  play- 
ing. Ignace  Jean  Paderewski  produced  a  pro- 
found impression  upon  all  who  heard  him  in 
both  England  and  America;  and  the  impression 
was  one  which  did  credit  to  the  musical  percep- 
tion of  both  countries.  It  seems  idle  to  reiter- 
ate the  oft-repeated  assertion  that  Paderewski 
is  a  very  great  pianist,  yet  it  must  be  repeated 
here  for  the  sake  of  the  record.  Those  of  us 
who  sat  under  the  magic  spell  of  his  perform- 
ances in  New  York,  and  at  times  let  emotion 
run  away  with  judgment,  will  never  forget  how 
we  awoke,  as  it  were,  on  leaving  the  hall,  and 
were  conscious  of  vague  questionings. 

Perfection,  we  reflected,  is  still  a  poet's  dream. 
We  could  not  listen  even  to  the  Arabian  Nights' 
entertainments  of  Paderewski  without  repeating 
the  familiar  query  which  the  young  man  of  de- 
partmental ditties  attributed  to  the  distorted 
genius  of  his  Satanic  Majesty  —  "Is  it  art?" 
And  then  we  turned  scornfully  upon  ourselves 
and  cried,  "  Away  with  all  cynics  !  Throw  crit- 
icism to  the  dogs !  Let  us  praise,  applaud,  and 
be  merry  ;  for  to-morrow  some  piano-manufact- 
urer will  import  a  pianist  who  cannot  play  thus. 


SOME   LIVING  PLAYERS.  201 

Let  us  sound  the  loud  timbrel  of  laudation  o'er 
Egypt's  dark  sea  of  analysis.     Great  is  Paderew- 

ski !  " 

And  he  is  great.  His  performance  of  the  Em- 
peror concerto  of  Beethoven  was  not  what  we  ex- 
pected ;  but  it  is  not  a  sine  qua  non  that  a  pian- 
ist should  be  in  complete  sympathy  with  the 
majestic  musical  thoughts  of  the  mighty  Lud- 
wig.  No  one  but  a  great  artist  could  have 
played  Schumann's  A  minor  concerto  as  Pader- 
ewski  did.  His  performance  was  lovely  in  the 
poetry  of  its  feeling,  exquisite  in  the  delicacy 
and  warmth  of  its  color,  convincing  in  its  ex- 
pression, and  captivating  in  its  refinement.  It 
was  a  complete  demonstration  of  the  player's  ar- 
tistic nature.  It  was  a  radiant  companion  piece 
to  his  interpretation  of  Rubinstein's  beautiful 
D  minor  concerto,  and  his  incomparable  delivery 
of  some  of  Schubert's  works.  Moreover,  no  one 
but  a  musician  of  genuine  originality  could  have 
written  Paderewski's  own  concerto,  and  I  do  not 
believe  that  any  other  living  pianist  could  play 
it  with  such  ease,  brilliancy,  and  beauty. 

Paderewski's  mastery  of  the  key-board  is  sim- 
ply glorious.  All  the  difficulties  of  modern 
compositions  resolve  themselves  into  fancies 
under  the  magic  caress  of  his  graceful  hands. 
But  that  is  a  minor  consideration.     The  great 


202      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PIANO  MUSIC. 

fundamental  trait  of  his  playing  is  its  vocal  char- 
acter. When  Emmanuel  Bach  said :  "  During 
the  last  few  years  my  chief  endeavor  has  been 
to  play  the  piano-forte,  in  spite  of  its  deficiency 
in  sustaining  sound,  as  much  as  possible  in  a 
singing  manner,  and  to  compose  for  it  accord- 
ingly," he  formulated  the  true  principle  of  all 
instrumental  performance.  Now,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  the  passages  which  Paderewski  plays  so 
wonderfully  on  the  piano  could  not  be  sung; 
but  he  makes  them  sound  as  if  they  could  be, 
and,  indeed,  were  sung.  He  steeps  every  com- 
position in  a  vocal  atmosphere,  which  causes  the 
piano  to  seem  animated  by  the  breath  of  life. 
The  ability  to  do  this  combines  with  a  rare  gift 
of  sympathy,  uncommon  poetic  insight,  and  a 
marvellous  faculty  of  conveying  his  own  feeling 
through  the  medium  of  the  key-board  to  the 
hearer,  to  make  Paderewski  what  he  is — a  man 
with  interpretative  and  creative  individuality. 
In  every  art  such  a  being  is  precious. 


SCHUMANN  AND  THE  PROGRAMME- 
SYMPHONY. 


SCHUMANN  AND  THE  PROGRAMME- 
SYMPHONY. 


After  the  first  performance  of  one  of  his 
symphonies  Robert  Schumann  wrote  to  a  friend 
expressing  his  delight  at  its  favorable  reception. 
No  symphony  had  been  taken  so  kindly  by  the 
public  since  Beethoven.  Schumann's  pleasure 
had  a  very  substantial  foundation.  The  condi- 
tion of  the  public  feeling  toward  his  works  is  the 
same  now  as  it  was  then,  with  the  addition  of 
that  deeper  respect  which  familiarity  with  good 
intellectual  work  always  breeds  instead  of  con- 
tempt. Schumann  is  pretty  generally  accepted 
now  as  the  second  in  rank  of  the  great  sym- 
phonic writers.  There  is  still  a  tendency  in  some 
quarters  to  overrate  Mendelssohn,  whose  worth 
must  certainly  not  be  underestimated.  But 
close  and  sympathetic  study,  without  which  any 
critical  summary  must  be  built  on  insecure  foun- 
dations, will,  we  think,  convince  any  one  that 


206  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

Schumann  is  surpassed  in  emotional  depth,  in- 
tellectual force,  and  expressive  ability  by  Beet- 
hoven alone. 

Emil  Naumann,  whose  "  History  of  Music  "  is 
an  exhaustive  work  and  sufficiently  trustworthy 
as  to  facts,  declared  his  belief  that  Robert  Schu- 
mann was  not  a  genius.  If  he  was  not,  I  am  very 
doubtful  as  to  the  existence  of  more  than  four 
geniuses  in  the  whole  record  of  music.  They 
are  Bach,  Mozart,  Beethoven,  and  Wagner. 
The  reader  will  note  that  this  list  omits  such  im- 
portant personages  as  Orlando  Lasso,  Palestri- 
na,  Haydn,  Gluck,  Mendelssohn,  Schubert,  and 
Chopin,  not  to  mention  the  whole  list  of  opera- 
tic composers  of  the  Italian  and  French  schools. 
Naumann,  however,  is  a  man  of  no  middle  meas- 
ures. Having  decided  that  Schumann  was 
simply  a  man  of  talent,  he  dismisses  him,  to- 
gether with  Schubert  and  Mendelssohn,  in  a  few 
scant  pages. 

It  is  fair  to  suspect  that  a  good  deal  of  the 
reasoning  which  led  Naumann  to  make  this 
classification  was  affected  by  what  H.  T.  Finck 
calls  the  worship  of  Jumboism.  If  Franz  Schu- 
bert was  not  a  genius,  then  the  universal  concep- 
tion of  genius  as  inspired  ability  is  false.  Schu- 
bert's songs  are  small  works  as  compared  with 
Beethoven's  symphonies  ;  but  it  is  cheap  criti- 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  207 

cism  that  measures  the  value  of  a  painter's  work 
by  the  size  of  his  canvas.  There  have  been 
hundreds  of  grand  operas  worth  far  less  to  the 
world  than  Schubert's  "  Doppelganger,"  "  Du 
bist  die  Ruh,"  or  "  Erlkonig."  The  same  com- 
parison can  be  made  in  regard  to  Schumann's 
songs. 

This  digression  is  made  with  a  view  to  show- 
ing that  Naumann's  classification  is  arbitrary  and 
foolish.  Robert  Schumann  was  surely  a  genius, 
and  he  proves  it  in  his  symphonic  writings  as 
fully  as  in  his  songs  and  piano  pieces.  His 
symphonies  are  as  incontestably  entitled  to  the 
rank  of  master-songs  as  is  "  Morgenlich  leuch- 
tend."  If  there  is  one  quality  more  potent  than 
another  in  his  orchestral  words  it  is  that  intense, 
concentrated,  and  irresistible  emotional  force 
which  is  the  soul  of  his  songs.  And  this  emo- 
tional intensity  is  not  hampered  by  a  lack  of 
utterance.  There  is  no  mistaking  Schumann's 
moods,  for  his  musical  exposition  of  them  is  so 
luminously  eloquent  that  even  those  unskilled 
in  the  language  of  music  must  be  quickened  by 
their  innate  warmth.  Like  Wotan's  sword  in 
the  trunk  of  the  tree,  they  glow  even  upon  the 
eyes  of  the  uninformed. 

It  has  always  seemed  to  me  to  require  singular 
opacity  to  fail  to  perceive  Schumann's  tremen- 


208  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

dous  virility.  It  reveals  itself  most  brilliantly 
in  his  four  symphonies,  of  which  three  certainly 
deserve  to  be  classed  in  the  first  rank,  as  second 
only  to  the  third,  fifth,  seventh,  and  ninth  of 
Beethoven.  Though  Schumann  undoubtedly 
lacked  the  fertile  invention  and  the  lofty  sim- 
plicity of  thematic  utterance  possessed  by  the 
greatest  of  all  symphonic  writers,  he  equalled 
his  predecessor  in  earnestness  of  purpose  and  in 
the  originality  of  the  methods  by  which  he 
sought  to  make  his  purposes  known.  This  is  a 
broad  assertion  ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  a  care- 
ful study  of  Schumann's  symphonies  will  justify 
it.  Perceiving,  as  I  always  do,  the  big  human 
heart  of  the  man  in  every  measure  of  his  music 
and  feeling  at  each  hearing  of  the  C  major, 
the  Rhenish  and  the  D  minor  the  glorious 
magnetism  of  a  sympathy  which  it  is  the  privi- 
lege of  music  to  build  between  the  quick  and  the 
dead,  I  approach  the  task  of  paying  my  tribute 
to  the  memory  of  Robert  Schumann  with  no 
little  feeling.  He  was  the  keenest  and  wisest  of 
critics,  a  king  among  men  and  a  prince  among 
composers. 

Schumann  was  a  romanticist  by  temperament 
and  by  the  environment  of  time  and  situation. 
Therefore  he  wrote  programme  music  ;  for  pro- 
gramme music  has  always  been  a  special  means 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  209 

of  expression  for  romanticism.  Let  us,  then, 
first  consider  this  kind  of  composition.  Many 
words  have  been  written  about  it,  and  "yet  is 
there  strength,  labor,  and  sorrow."  Whether  it 
is  a  good  or  bad  thing,  beneficent  or  maleficent 
toward  art,  has  been  discussed  ad  infinitum,  and, 
perhaps,  ad  nauseam.  It  is  a  question  which 
cannot  be  answered  categorically.  Whether  pro- 
gramme music  is  good  or  bad  depends,  in  the 
first  place,  on  the  composer's  design  and  upon  his 
just  observance  of  the  limitations  of  his  art ;  and, 
in  the  second  place,  on  the  hearer's  conception 
of  the  possibilities  of  musical  significance. 

No  one  can  deny  that  interest  is  added  to  a 
composition  for  the  average  hearer  by  the  appli- 
cation of  a  "  programme."  Men  and  women 
are  fond  of  having  a  peg  on  which  to  hang  their 
imaginations.  This  is  sometimes  urged  as  an 
objection  against  all  programme  music.  The 
objectors  say  that  one  cannot  understand  such 
music  without  a  key.  That  is  true  enough  ; 
but  when  the  key  is  supplied  it  certainly  opens 
the  door  for  us  and  lets  us  see  what  is  going  on 
in  the  composer's  mind.  The  music  stimulates 
the  imagination,  and  the  two  act  and  react  on 
one  another.  The  objection  offered  against  this 
is  that  the  whole  proceeding  is  largely  a  mat- 
ter of  imagination.  But  that  objection  may  be 
14 


2IO  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

made  to  all  art.  It  is  certainly  fair  to  offer  it 
against  poetry,  fiction,  and  the  drama.  The 
novelist  imagines  a  series  of  incidents,  and  by 
the  force  of  his  words  makes  us  see  them  with 
the  mind's  eye.  He  tells  us  what  he  wishes  us 
to  imagine,  and  we  imagine  it.  How  much  dif- 
ference is  there  between  his  power  and  that  of 
the  composer  ? 

The  difference  is  in  the  character  of  the  con- 
cepts formed  by  the  mind.  The  novelist  can 
tell  a  direct  story  ;  he  can  name  his  personages, 
and  describe  the  color  of  their  eyes.  This  is 
not  in  the  power  of  music.  She  fills  the  mind 
with  broad,  universal  imaginations  rather  than 
with  images.  To  be  sure  there  are  persons  who 
seek  for  images  in  all  music.  Among  them  are 
those  fanciful  enthusiasts  who  find  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow,  the  thunders  of  the  mountain- 
storm,  the  babbling  of  the  meadow  -  brook,  or 
the  bellowing  of  the  great  deep  in  this  or  that 
composition.  Sometimes  in  the  carrying  out  of 
a  great  plan  the  masters  have  written  music  de- 
signed to  conjure  up  in  the  mind  images  of  ex- 
ternal objects,  but  to  do  that  is  to  put  music  to 
its  lowest  use. 

The  highest  form  of  programme  music  is  that 
in  which  the  programme  is  simply  an  emotional 
schedule.     I   mean  that  the  composer,  having 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  211 

studied  his  own  soul,  and  having  found  that 
certain  events  in  his  life  or  observation  have 
given  rise  to  a  train  of  emotions,  designs  his 
composition  to  convey  some  knowledge  of  that 
train  of  emotions  to  his  hearer,  and  to  place  him 
in  responsive  sympathy  with  it.  He  says  to 
the  hearer,  "  Listen  to  my  music  and  feel  what 
I  have  felt."  Unless  I  have  failed  to  compre- 
hend his  obscure  language  (not  made  more  com- 
prehensible in  Mr.  Lawson's  translation)  this  is 
what  Dr.  Hand  means  in  his  "  ^Esthetics  of 
Musical  Art,"  when  he  says :  "  We  truly  cannot 
tell  what  every  individual  tone  in  a  piece  of 
music  says,  as  is  possible  in  the  case  of  the 
words  of  language,  or  even  what  feeling  is  ex- 
pressed in  particular  harmonies ;  but  in  the 
condition  of  feeling — which  in  itself  is  not  in- 
definite —  the  fantasy  operates,  and  creates  and 
combines  melodic  and  harmonic  tone-pictures, 
which  not  only  represent  that  condition,  but  are 
also,  in  themselves,  valid  as  representations. 
Thus,  for  instance,  the  feeling  of  perfect  enjoy- 
ment of  life,  or  of  sadness,  becomes  a  picture  in 
a  Rondo,  or  in  an  Adagio,  in  which  all  individ- 
ual successions  of  tones,  and  forms  of  tones,  are 
in  unison  with  the  fundamental  feeling." 

This,  it  seems  to   me,  was  the  kind  of  pro- 
gramme music  that  Robert   Schumann  wrote. 


212  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

It  is  not  music  for  the  masses,  I  admit,  though 
Schumann's  manly  strength  is  so  plainly  re- 
vealed in  his  music  that  even  the  superficial  get 
a  certain  pleasure  from  his  symphonies.  But 
the  real  meaning  of  Schumann's  orchestral  works 
is  reserved  for  him  who  can  find  the  key  to 
their  emotional  basis.  Once  you  have  discov- 
ered the  composer's  schedule  of  feeling,  you 
have  opened  up  for  yourself  a  mine  of  musical 
wealth  which,  it  seems  to  me,  could  only  have 
been  worked  by  a  real  genius.  Reading  Schu- 
mann's symphonies  thus,  we  must  perceive  that 
they  are  programme  music  of  the  loftiest  order, 
in  which  the  essential  nature  of  romanticism  in 
music  becomes  at  once  the  rule  of  their  con- 
struction and  the  justification  of  their  existence. 
This  essential  nature  of  romanticism,  which 
means  the  completion  of  an  emotional  circuit 
between  the  composer  and  the  hearer,  is  the 
only  argument  in  favor  of  programme  music. 
It  is  the  only  ground  upon  which  the  sym- 
phonic poem  and  the  leit  motif  can  stand  with 
any  hope  of  safety.  It  is  the  ground  upon 
which  Beethoven  placed  his  pastoral  symphony 
when  he  wrote  over  it,  "  mehr  Ausdruck  der 
Empfindung  als  Malerei  :  "  more  an  expression 
of  emotion  than  portraiture.  If  we  go  back  to 
the  earliest  programme  music  we  find  that  it 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  213 

does  not  stand  the  application  of  these  princi- 
ples. Take,  for  instance,  the  ballet  suites  of 
Francois  Couperin.  After  writing,  he  sought 
for  effective  theatrical  titles,  and  called  his 
movements  by  such  names  as  "  La  majestueuse," 
"  La  voluptueuse,"  "  Les  enjouments  bachiques," 
"  Tendresses  bachiques,"  "  Fureurs  bachiques." 
The  auditors  were  supposed  to  discover  the 
qualities  indicated  by  these  titles,  or  at  any  rate 
to  imagine  them.  But  as  Couperin  was  not 
conscious  of  any  particular  emotional  state  in 
the  composition  of  these  pieces,  as  he  had  no 
conception  of  the  possibility  of  projecting  his 
emotion  through  his  music,  his  titles  were 
meaningless,  and  his  programme  music  con- 
structed on  false  principles. 

In  failing  to  grasp  the  real  possibilities  of  pro- 
gramme music,  Couperin  was,  like  his  contem- 
poraries, hampered  by  the  condition  of  musical 
art.  Music  was  not  yet  free  from  the  shackles 
of  the  ecclesiastical  scales,  and  the  ecclesiastical 
spirit  still  controlled  her  utterance.  All  the 
great  composers  of  the  day  failed  comparatively 
in  emotional  writing  the  moment  they  attempted 
anything  that  was  not  religious.  Bach's  "  St. 
Matthew  Passion  "  will  live  forever;  but  his  in- 
strumental programme  pieces  are  only  musical 
curiosities.     We  have  seen  in  our  study  of  piano 


214  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

music  how  Kuhnau  tried  to  write  programme 
music  of  a  pictorial  kind  and  was  unsuccessful. 
Yet  the  internal  evidence  of  Kuhnau's  works 
goes  to  show  that  he  had  some  ideas  as  to  the 
limitations  of  his  art.  For  instance,  the  argu- 
ment of  his  "  Saul  Cured  by  David  by  Means 
of  Music"  is  thus  quoted  by  Dr.  Spitta :  First, 
Saul's  melancholy  and  madness.  Second,  Da- 
vid's refreshing  harp-playing.  Third,  the  King's 
mind  restored  to  peace."  Dr.  Spitta  describes 
this  as  really  well  made.  The  themes  are  char- 
acteristic and  well  handled.  The  great  point, 
however,  in  this  and  the  other  sonatas  is  this  : 
"  Situations  are  selected  which  are  characterized 
by  the  most  simple  and  unmixed  sentiment." 
In  other  words,  Kuhnau  sometimes  had  a  dim 
perception  of  the  truth  that  only  broad  effects 
were  attainable.  The  very  moment  that  one 
attempts  to  paint  details  in  music,  text  becomes 
necessary.  The  domain  of  absolute  music  is 
transcended,  and  we  must  have  the  choral  sym- 
phony, the  cantata,  or,  best  of  all,  the  opera. 

Kuhnau's  descriptive  sonatas  gave  us  Bach's 
"  Capriccio  sopra  la  lontananza  del  suo  fratello 
dilettissimo " — "  capriccio  on  the  absence  [de- 
parture] of  a  loved  brother."  It  has  often  been 
said  that  Bach  was  the  father  of  programme 
music,  but  in  the  face  of  Froberger,  Kuhnau, 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  215 

Couperin,  and  Knecht,  with  his  two  labelled 
symphonies,  it  would  be  better  to  drop  this  as- 
sertion. Those  who  are  unacquainted  with  this 
composition  of  Bach's  will  find  food  for  reflec- 
tion in  the  composer's  programme :  The  first 
number  is  labelled  "  Persuasion  addressed  to 
friends  that  they  withhold  him  from  the  jour- 
ney ; "  the  second,  "  A  representation  of  the  va- 
rious casual ities  which  may  happen  to  him  in  a 
foreign  country ; "  third,  "  A  general  lamenta- 
tion by  friends ; "  fourth,  "  The  friends,  seeing 
that  it  cannot  be  otherwise,  come  to  take  leave; " 
fifth,  "  Aria  de  postiglione."  Dr.  Spitta  adds, 
with  dry  humor,  "  When  the  carriage  has  driven 
off  and  the  composer  is  left  alone,  he  takes  ad- 
vantage of  his  solitude  to  write  a  double  fugue 
on  the  post-horn  call."  Delightful  consolation  ! 
Can  one  fail  to  discern  how  the  whole  spirit 
of  programme  music  was  misconceived  by  the 
masters  of  the  first  half  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, including  the  great  Sebastian  ?  Kuhnau 
did  the  most  surprising  things,  such  as  writing 
recitative  without  words  for  the  clavier  in  his 
vain  efforts  to  transform  that  modest  instrument 
into  a  dramatic  singer.  Bach  must  have  felt 
that  his  attempt  to  make  the  clavier  catalogue 
the  accidents  that  might  happen  to  his  brother 
in  a  foreign  land  was  a  failure.     At  any  rate  he 


2l6  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

did  not  pursue  the  study  of  programme  music. 
It  was  not  in  the  line  of  Bach's  development 
anyhow. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  lies  just  here:  No 
composer  can  convey  a  definite  descriptive  com- 
munication to  his  hearer  in  music.  He  can  re- 
veal his  mood  and  reproduce  it  in  the  sympa- 
thetic auditor;  but  that  is  as  far  as  he  can  go. 
He  can  be  gay  or  sad,  calm  or  stormy,  peaceful 
or  heroic,  and  he  can  make  the  hearer  share  his 
feelings.  But  the  very  moment  he  desires  to 
say  to  his  hearer,  "  I  am  sad  because  my  only 
brother  has  gone  to  China,"  he  must  put  that 
fact  in  words.  For  the  hearer's  idea  of  sadness 
on  account  of  the  absence  of  a  brother  may  be 
very  different  from  that  of  the  composer,  and 
the  former  in  that  case  will  fail  to  comprehend 
the  latter.  It  is  here  that  a  key  is  needed,  either 
of  text  or  of  knowledge  of  the  causes  producing 
the  emotional  conditions  under  which  the  music 
was  written.  Without  a  key  the  hearer  is  as 
helpless  as  he  would  be  in  the  presence  of  a 
Bayreuth  leit  motif  divorced  from  its  text. 

If  Wagner  had  written  a  theme  designed  to 
express  the  sorrow  of  the  Volsungs,  and  given 
it  to  us  dissociated  from  its  dramatic  text,  we 
should  recognize  its  marvellous  melancholy,  but 
we  could  go  no  further.     Herein  lies  the  only 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  217 

possible  justification,  as  I  have  intimated,  of 
the  leit  motif.  It  is  explained  by  the  very  text 
whose  meaning  it  intensifies  and  illustrates. 
Just  as  the  intonations  of  the  human  voice  be- 
tray the  feelings  that  lie  behind  words,  so  does 
Wagner's  leading  motive,  substituted  for  the 
spoken  tone,  throw  warmth  and  influence  into 
his  text.  But  without  the  text  the  meaning  of 
the  motive  would  remain  a  secret  in  the  com- 
poser's breast,  because  it  would  be  beyond  his 
power  to  make  music  anything  but  subjective. 
This  must  not  be  understood  as  a  declaration  of 
belief  that  every  time  a  leit  motif  is  repeated 
the  text  should  accompany  it.  The  explanation 
once  given  should  suffice  to  make  the  theme  sig- 
nificant through  the  drama. 

What  are  we  to  think,  then,  about  orchestral 
music  and  piano  compositions  ?  What  becomes 
of  our  theories  about  being  faithful  to  the  inten- 
tions of  the  composer  ?  The  truth  is  that,  un- 
less the  composer  has  left  us  some  indication  of 
his  design,  we  are  limited  to  such  knowledge  as 
can  be  obtained  from  the  internal  evidence  of 
the  music,  and  that,  as  seems  to  be  pretty  thor- 
oughly established,  is  only  of  a  broad  and  gen- 
eral nature.  Who  has  solved  the  riddles  of 
Beethoven's  last  quartets  and  sonatas  ?  Their 
interpretation   must    rest   upon   a   sympathetic 


2l8  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

study  of  the  emotional  life  of  the  composer  at 
the  time  when  they  were  written.  Tell  us  what 
Beethoven  suffered  or  dreamed  while  he  wrote 
any  one  of  these  works,  and  you  have  offered  us 
a  key  to  his  meaning.  To  play  those  works  in 
such  a  way  as  to  reproduce  in  the  hearer  some- 
thing of  the  emotional  life  of  the  master  at  that 
time  is  to  approach  as  nearly  as  any  human  be- 
ing can  to  carrying  out  the  composer's  intention. 
It  is  to  vindicate  the  influence  of  music  and 
to  establish  its  spirituality.  It  is  to  demolish 
the  transcendent  rubbish  of  Tolstoi  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  rhapsodical  idiocy  of  rainbow 
and  sunshine  discoverers  on  the  other.  It  is  to 
establish  the  intellectuality  of  the  tone  art  and 
to  demonstrate  that  materialism  cannot  debase 
it. 

It  is  in  this  spirit  that  we  must  approach  the 
symphonic  works  of  Robert  Schumann.  We 
must  examine  them  in  their  relation  to  the  com- 
poser's life,  and  look  upon  them  as  in  some 
measure  a  record  of  his  emotional  experience — 
not  necessarily  written  under  the  stress  of  the 
emotions  which  they  express,  but  designed  in 
calmer  moments  to  paint  the  composer's  heart 
for  us.  If  there  be  any  notable  end  to  be  gained 
by  a  continuance  of  the  classic  inquiry  into  the 
nature  of  the  true,  the  beautiful,  and  the  good, 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  2IO, 

then  there  is  a  profit  in  the  thoughtful  study  of 
Schumann's  music. 

To  be  sure,  standards  of  judgment  vary.  One 
man  says  all  music  should  be  beautiful;  but  he 
does  not  know  what  "beautiful"  is,  and  he 
shares  this  elementary  ignorance  with  Thales, 
Heraclitus,  Plato,  Aristotle,  Plotinus,  Sir  Will- 
iam Hamilton,  Ruskin,  Spencer,  Voltaire,  Did- 
erot, Kant,  Wieland,  Vischer,  Schopenhauer, 
and  Oscar  Wilde,  all  of  whom  tried  to  define 
the  beautiful  with  conspicuous  lack  of  success. 
Another  man — and  he,  be  it  noted,  is  always  a 
rabid  Wagnerite — abides  by  the  dictum  of  Jean 
Jacques  Rousseau  :  "  La  tout  est  beau,  parce 
que  tout  est  vrai."  Which  assertion  crumbles 
into  absurdity  in  the  presence  of  a  brown-stone 
house  or  a  canon  by  Jadassohn.  But  the  Schu- 
mann emotional  programme  music  is  both  beau- 
tiful and  true,  and,  measured  by  the  standard  of 
either  man,  must  be  pronounced  good,  if  not 
great. 

The  composer  fell  into  this  way  of  writing 
early  in  his  career.  His  great  sensibility,  keen 
and  subtle  perception,  strong  sense  of  humor, 
and  vivid  imagination  rendered  him  incapable 
of  writing  music  simply  for  music's  sake.  His 
wealth  of  impressions  found  utterance  in  what 
he  wrote.     It  prevented  him  from  succeeding  as 


220  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

a  writer  in  the  sonata  form.  He  could  not  shut 
himself  up  within  the  boundaries  of  a  formula. 
He  never  wrote  a  great  work  in  the  sonata  form 
until  he  saw  how  that  form  could  be  made  to 
bend  and  yield  to  his  wishes,  as  it  did  in  the  C 
major  and  D  minor  symphonies.  But  his  pro- 
gramme music  for  the  piano  was  a  revelation. 
It  not  only  revealed  the  tendencies  and  wonder- 
ful powers  of  Schumann's  creative  gifts,  but  it 
discovered  to  the  world  new  possibilities  of  ex- 
pression in  the  piano.  Schumann  began  his  ca- 
reer as  a  pianist.  He  understood  the  instrument 
and  knew  how  to  make  it  speak  his  language. 
That  he  invented  for  it  a  new  manner  of  speech 
will  be  apparent  to  every  student  of  the  tech- 
nique of  the  instrument.  But  he  did  more  than 
that.  He  gave  the  piano  new  thoughts  to  ut- 
ter. The  instrument,  which  had  been  a  prattling 
babe  in  the  hands  of  Scarlatti,  a  singing  boy  in 
the  hands  of  Mozart,  a  hero  and  a  prophet  in  the 
hands  of  Beethoven,  became  a  poet  in  those  of 
Schumann. 

We  may  say  what  we  will  of  Beethoven's  so- 
natas— and  to  the  writer  they  have  always  been 
the  greatest  music  written  for  the  piano — but  we 
must  bear  in  mind  that  they  are  great  as  music 
pure  and  simple,  not  especially  as  piano  music. 
Through  them  the  piano  utters  thoughts  never 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  221 

before  uttered  by  it ;  but  its  language,  its  vocab- 
ulary, remains  the  same.  Beethoven  invented 
no  new  figures.  Therefore,  he  was  not  essen- 
tially a  developer  of  the  instrument.  Schumann 
not  only  said  new  things,  but  said  them  in  a 
new  way.  He  enriched  the  vocabulary  of  the 
piano  a  thousandfold,  and  opened  the  way  for 
later  writers  to  produce  effects  which  were  pre- 
viously unknown.  Together  with  Chopin,  his 
twin  giant,  he  revolutionized  the  rhetoric  of 
piano  music.  Beethoven  had  thundered  his 
Areopagitica  through  the  piano — had  made  it 
the  mouthpiece  of  his  great  cries  for  human 
liberty.  Schumann  and  Chopin  were  no  orators 
as  Beethoven  was ;  but  they  were  poets,  and 
they  sang  together  as  the  morning  stars  did, 
"  or  ever  the  earth  and  the  world  were  born." 

Schumann  began  to  paint  his  soul-pictures  as 
early  as  1831,  when  he  finished  "The  Papil- 
lons."  It  is  not  necessary  to  remind  music 
lovers  of  the  beauty  of  these  short  pieces.  It 
has  been  well  said  that  in  some  of  these  there 
was  no  great  significance,  but  an  exquisite  poetic 
idea  underlay  their  arrangement.  It  has  been 
well  said,  also,  that  the  rhythm  of  the  pro- 
foundly beautiful  waltz  marks  the  time  of  the 
hearts  rather  than  of  the  feet  of  the  dancers. 
This  was  to  be  expected  of  Schumann,  and  we 


222  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

should  not  go  far  astray,  probably,  if  we  ac- 
cepted that  waltz  as  marking  the  beat  of  the 
composer's  own  heart ;  for  it  is  impossible  to 
avoid  perceiving  that  the  originality  of  Schu- 
mann's music  is  the  result  of  his  constant  en- 
deavor to  express  his  own  soul.  You  can  trace 
his  attempts  through  such  piano  works  as  the 
"  Davidsbundler,"  Opus  6 ;  "  Carnival,"  Opus  9  ; 
"  Fantasiestiicken,"  Opus  12;  "Scenes  from 
Childhood,"  Opus  15  ;  "  Vienna  Carnival,"  Opus 
26 ;  "  Album  for  Youth,"  Opus  68 ;  "  Forest 
Scenes,"  Opus  82  ;  "  Album  Leaves,"  Opus  124. 
Yet  we  know  that  Schumann  did  not  wish  these 
compositions  to  be  accepted  as  programme  mu- 
sic in  the  older  sense.  He  held  his  hearer  down 
to  no  binding  schedule  of  scenes  and  incidents. 
He  preferred  to  give  a  title  which  hinted  at 
his  ideas,  and  then  let  his  music  awaken  the 
hearer's  emotions. 

That  Schumann  felt  his  own  power,  that  he 
realized  that  a  new  force  was  making  itself  known 
in  German  music,  can  hardly  be  doubted.  In 
his  critical  writings  the  composer  gave  utterance 
frequently  to  words  of  much  significance.  In 
one  place  he  says :  "  Consciously  or  uncon- 
sciously a  new  and  as  yet  undeveloped  school  is 
being  founded  on  the  basis  of  the  Beethoven- 
Schubert  romanticism,  a  school  which  we  may 


THE   PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  22$ 

venture  to  expect  will  mark  a  special  epoch  in 
the  history  of  art.  Its  destiny  seems  to  be  to 
usher  in  a  period  which  will  nevertheless  have 
many  links  to  connect  it  with  the  past  century." 
His  feeling  that  he  was  destined  to  be  one  of 
the  singers  of  this  school  is  shown  in  a  letter 
written  to  Moscheles  in  1836,  wherein  he  says  : 
"If  you  only  knew  how  I  feel — as  though  I  had 
reached  the  lowest  bough  of  the  tree  of  heaven, 
and  could  hear  overhead,  in  hours  of  sacred 
loneliness,  songs,  some  of  which  I  may  yet  re- 
veal to  those  I  love — you  surely  would  not  deny 
me  an  encouraging  word."  Can  we  not  per- 
ceive in  these  words  the  yearning  of  a  great  soul 
for  self-expression  ? 

The  time  came.  Stimulated  by  the  enthusi- 
astic resolution  with  which  he  entered  upon  the 
defence  of  all  that  was  noble  in  art  in  the  Neue 
Zeitschrift  fiir  Musik,  his  imagination  began  to 
embody  the  indefinite  emotions  of  his  soul.  It 
was  in  the  years  1836  to  1839,  when  he  had  well 
mastered  the  routine  of  journalistic  labor,  that 
he  poured  out  those  immortal  piano  works,  in- 
cluding the  Fantasia  in  C,  the  F  minor  sonata, 
"  Kreisleriana,"  and  "  Faschingsschwank,"  which 
have  made  his  name  dear  to  all  lovers  of  piano 
music.  Now  he  realized  that  he  could  express 
his  inner  self:     "  I  used  to  rack  my  brains  for  a 


2  24  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

long  time,"  he  writes ;  "  but  now  I  hardly  ever 
scratch  out  a  note.  It  all  comes  from  within, 
and  I  often  feel  as  if  I  could  go  playing  straight 
on  without  ever  coming  to  an  end."  But  it  was 
in  1840  that  he  began  to  pour  out  his  heart  in  a 
new  manner.  It  was  in  that  year  that  his  strug- 
gle for  the  hand  of  Clara  Wieck  came  to  its  vic- 
torious close.  As  the  man  beheld  day  after  day 
the  unshaken  steadfastness  of  the  woman  who 
loved  him  in  the  face  of  all  opposition,  he  felt 
that  the  piano,  marvellously  as  he  himself  had 
increased  its  power  of  speech,  could  not  embody 
his  emotions,  and  he  turned  to  the  oldest  and 
most  flexible  instrument,  the  human  voice.  In 
the  year  1840  Schumann  wrote  over  one  hun- 
dred songs,  of  which  the  world  never  tires  and 
probably  never  will ;  for  their  romantic  self- 
expression  is  so  broad,  so  human,  that  they  will 
stand  for  all  time  as  the  soul-hymns  of  men. 

The  artistic  development  of  Schumann  is  so 
indisputably  the  result  of  his  life  up  to  this 
point,  that  we  are  not  surprised  at  his  next  step. 
The  tumult  of  young  love  lifted  him  from  the 
piano  to  the  voice.  The  consummation  of  his 
manhood,  in  the  union  with  a  woman  of  noble 
heart  and  commanding  intellect,  led  him  to  the 
orchestra.  In  1841  he  rushed  into  the  sym- 
phonic field,  and   composed  no  less  than  three 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  22$ 

of  his  orchestral  works.  The  first  of  these  was 
his  B  flat  symphony  (opus  38),  which  was  pro- 
duced, at  the  Leipzig  Gevvandhaus,  under  Men- 
delssohn's careful  and  sympathetic  direction,  on 
March  31st.  The  other  two  were  produced  on 
December  6th.  One  was  the  work  now  called 
"  Overture,  Scherzo,  and  Finale,"  which,  it 
is  said,  Schumann  originally  called  "  Sinfo- 
ni'etta."  The  other  was  the  immortal  D  minor 
symphony,  now  known  as  the  fourth.  It  was 
not  a  great  success  at  its  first  production,  and 
Schumann  was  dissatisfied  with  it.  He  re- 
scored  it,  filling  in  the  brass  especially,  so  that 
the  best  critics  are  now  generally  agreed  that  it 
is  somewhat  thick  and  clouded.  Joseph  Mosen- 
thal,  who  has  seen  a  copy  of  the  original  orches- 
tration (in  the  possession  of  Johannes  Brahms), 
says  that  it  is  much  more  clear  and  delicate.  The 
failure  of  the  effect  of  the  original  score  was  due 
to  the  weakness  of  the  strings  in  the  orchestra. 
It  is  necessary  to  bear  these  facts  in  mind  in 
order  to  get  a  proper  idea  of  the  emotional  con- 
tents of  the  D  minor  and  C  major  symphonies, 
of  which  I  purpose  to  speak  particularly  as  em- 
bodiments of  Schumann's  inner  life.  The  B 
flat  symphony,  which  preceded  the  D  minor  in 
the  same  year,  is  Schumann's  spring  symphony. 
He  even  intended  at  one  time  to  give  it  that 
1? 


226  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

title,  and  it  is  generally  so  called.  It  is  full  of 
the  spirit,  the  gladness,  the  buoyancy  of  that 
happy  season,  beloved  of  poets  and  musicians. 

Do  you  know  that  wondrous  time  when 
spring  buds  into  summer,  when  the  timid  tinge 
of  the  half-blown  leaves  bursts  into  a  trium- 
phant splendor  of  emerald,  when  the  wild  orchids 
lift  their  heads  among  the  woodland  hollows, 
when  the  busy  hum  of  bees  begins  around  the 
vine-clad  porches,  and  the  great  sun,  rolling  in 
dazzling  majesty  across  our  deep-blue  northern 
skies,  sends  new  currents  of  life  bounding 
through  the  veins  of  plants  and  beasts  and  men 
alike  ?  It  is  not  the  "  early  spring,"  of  which 
so  many  youthful  poets  carol,  but  that  later 
spring  that  merges  into  summer,  and  is  the  new- 
crowned  glory  of  the  year.  It  is  of  such  a  sea- 
son that  Schumann's  D  minor  symphony  sings 
— of  such  a  season,  not  among  the  birds  and 
brooks  and  flowers,  but  in  the  infinite  universe 
of  a  man's  heart.  It  is  Schumann's  nuptial 
hymn,  the  "  Io  triumphe  "  of  love  victorious  and 
manhood  blessed. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  this  man,  growing,  as 
we  have  seen  him  grow,  with  a  constant  roman- 
ticism, and  an  unflagging  search  after  self-ex- 
pression, should  have  swept  away  the  barriers  of 
form,  and,  while  preserving  the  general  shape 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  2^^ 

of  the  symphony,  have  given  us  a  work,  novel 
in  appearance  as  it  was  in  feeling  ?  Let  us — 
for  it  is  necessary — enter  for  a  brief  time  upon 
the  unhappy  business  of  analysis.  The  first 
thing  that  strikes  the  student  of  the  score  is  the 
title  :  "  Fourth  Symphony  :  introduction,  alle- 
gro, romanze,  scherzo,  and  finale  in  one  move- 
ment." We  seldom  hear  this  symphony  played 
in  one  movement ;  a  break  is  usually  made  be- 
tween the  allegro  and  the  romance,  thereby 
breaking  the  flow  of  the  composer's  ideas  and 
doing  violence  to  his  intentions.  No  thoroughly 
artistic  conductor  should  be  guilty  of  such  a 
wrong.  Schumann  wrote  his  symphony  in  one 
movement  with  a  purpose.  It  is,  as  I  have  said, 
his  nuptial  hymn,  the  free,  untrammelled  out- 
pour of  his  emotions,  and  he  desires  that  the 
hearer's  feelings  shall  pass,  as  his  own  did,  from 
one  state  to  the  next  without  interruption.  In 
a  word,  this  is  the  first  symphonic  poem,  a  form 
which  is  based  upon  the  irrefutable  assertion 
that  "  there  is  no  break  between  two  successive 
emotional  states."  Now,  Schumann  did  not 
rest  here  ;  but  he  introduced  a  device  which  had 
not  been  used  by  Beethoven  when  that  master 
saw  the  need  of  unbroken  connection  between 
his  movements.  This  device  has  been  called 
"partial  community  of  theme."     I  do  not  like 


228  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

that  appellation  ;  it  belongs  to  a  style  of  termi- 
nology which  treats  music  as  if  it  were  a  science, 
not  an  art.  Music  is  a  form  of  poetry.  Let  us 
not  treat  it  as  a  form  of  mechanics.  Schu- 
mann's "  partial  community  of  theme  "  is  noth- 
ing more  nor  less  than  an  approach  to  the  leit 
motive  system.  Wagner  himself  tells  us,  in  his 
account  of  the  composition  of  "  The  Flying 
Dutchman,"  how  the  conviction  dawned  upon 
him  that  the  recurrence  of  a  thought  or  emo- 
tional state  in  the  opera  should  be  made  known 
by  a  repetition  of  the  music  in  which  it  was  first 
embodied.  Knowing  full  well  the  eagerness  of 
commentators  to  read  into  the  works  of  artists 
things  of  which  the  artists  themselves  never 
dreamed,  I  must  admit  that  there  is  no  evidence 
of  Schumann's  having  anticipated  Wagner's  con- 
clusion ;  but  there  is  abundant  internal  proof  in 
his  music  that  his  strong  feeling  for  direct  self- 
expression  led  him  to  a  usage  resembling  in  prin- 
ciple that  of  the  leit  motive.  The  introduction 
of  the  D  minor  symphony  is  made  of  this  theme: 


The  soft,  caressing,  yearning  nature  of  this 
theme  is  at  once  apparent  to  every  hearer,  and 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  22$ 

is  intensified  by  its  orchestral  treatment.  It  is 
announced  by  the  second  violins,  playing  on 
the  fourth  string,  and  the  first  bassoon  in  unison, 
the  violas  and  second  bassoon  in  unison  playing 
a  second  part  in  sixths  below.  The  clarinets  are 
added,  an  octave  above,  in  the  fifth  measure.  In 
twenty-one  measures  the  melody  evolved  from 
the  above  theme  is  completed  and  the  brief  but 
eloquent  exposition  of  that  yearning  tenderness 
which  has  in  it  a  note  of  pain  is  ended.  I  call 
this  the  yearning  motive.  Six  short  measures, 
in  which  Schumann  plainly  throws  aside  his 
softer  mood  and  turns  to  a  hymn  of  happiness, 
lead  us  to  the  motive  of  rejoicing : 


Ebenezer  Prout  has  made  an  analysis  of  the 
D  minor  symphony,  in  which  he  speaks  thus  of 
this  theme :  "  Trite  and  uninteresting  as  it  is,  it 
follows  us  relentlessly — now  in  the  bass,  now  in 
the  middle,  now  in  the  upper  parts,  now  in  the 
passages  of  imitation,  till,  when  we  reach  the 
end  of  the  movement,  we  hardly  know  whether 
to  feel  aggravated    at  its  pertinacity,  or  aston- 


23O  ROBERT  SCHUMANN^ 

ished  at  the  effect  produced  by  such  an  unprom- 
ising subject."  It  seems  to  me  that  a  musician 
so  well  informed  as  Mr.  Prout  must  have  written 
that  sentence  without  due  consideration.  Surely 
the  subject  is  no  more  unpromising  than  the 
simple  diatonic  scale  which  Beethoven  so  often 
used  with  astounding  effect.  It  seems  to  me 
that  Schumann  has  done  what  all  great  sym- 
phonists  have  done :  he  has  taken  a  simple 
melody  and  developed  it  in  an  effective  manner. 
His  theme  of  rejoicing  does,  indeed,  echo  and 
re-echo  from  all  parts  of  the  orchestra,  now 
thundering  in  the  basses,  again  carolling  with 
the  flutes,  but  always  swelling  higher  and  higher 
in  its  rapturous  utterance,  till  at  the  end  of  the 
movement  we  certainly  "  are  astonished  at  the 
effect "  and  wonder  how  the  composer  is  to 
spread  the  wings  of  his  fancy  for  further  flight. 

One  part  of  Mr.  Prout's  analysis  (which  I  am 
far  from  dispraising)  is  worthy  of  reproduction 
here.  He  notes  that  a  vigorous  forte  concludes 
the  first  part  of  the  allegro,  and  continues  by 
saying :  "  From  this  point  to  the  end  of  the 
movement  we  find  nothing  but  what  is  com- 
monly called  the  free  fantasia.  It  would  be 
very  interesting  to  find  out  how  many  hearers 
of  this  symphony  have  ever  noticed  that  neither 
the  first  nor  the  second  subject  ever  recurs  in 


THE  PR  O  GRA  MME-S  YM PHONY. 


231 


the  latter  part.  The  music  is  almost  entirely 
constructed  of  new  material,  to  which  the  open- 
ing bar  of  the  first  theme  mostly  serves  as  an 
accompaniment ;  and  such  unity  of  character  is 
given  to  the  whole  by  this  means  that  it  is 
doubtful  if  one  hearer  in  a  hundred  has  de- 
tected the  irregularity  of  the  form."  There  are 
two  reasons  for  this  "  irregularity  of  form." 
First,  Schumann's  purpose  was  plainly  to  de- 
velop to  its  furthest  power  of  emotional  expres- 
siveness his  motive  of  rejoicing.  He  sought  to 
do  this  not  only  by  carrying  it  through  a  series 
of  modulations,  and  setting  our  auditory  nerves 
to  vibrating  under  the  invigorating  shock  of 
such  foreign  tonalities  as  D  flat  major,  but  by  a 
process  of  variation,  made  familiar  by  Beetho- 
ven, through  which,  by  the  addition  of  small 
portions  of  new  material,  the  original  melody 
takes  on  a  new  form  and  color.  Here  is  the 
treatment  to  which  Schumann,  in  his  search 
after  accents  of  joy,  subjects  his  theme  : 


Wood 


232 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN-. 


He  works  this  out  in  such  a  manner  that  at  the 
end  of  the  allegro  it  is  succeeded  by  this  form : 


p^ 


r*z 


Now,  if  the  student  of  the  score  will  turn  to  the 
final  allegro  (what  would  under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances be  called  the  last  movement)  he  will 
find  that  his  theme,  plainly  a  motive  of  tri- 
umphant victory,  is  made  out  of  these  two 
forms  in  this  manner: 


No.  a 


No.  i. ' 


And  this  explains  why  Schumann  did  not  fol- 
low the  sonata  form  in  his  first  allegro  and  re- 
peat his  principal  subject  in  a  third  part  of  the 
movement.  Having  once  stated  his  motive  of 
joy,  he  had  no  further  use  for  it  but  to  develop 
it  into  a  paean  of  victory  at  the  end  of  the  one 
grand  movement  which  constitutes  the  sym- 
phony. 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  2$$ 

Does  not  this  view  throw  a  truthful  light  upon 
the  purpose  of  the  composer?  Is  it  not  justified 
by  our  preliminary  study  of  the  real  nature  of 
programme  music  and  the  bent  of  Schumann's 
genius  ?  If  there  were  no  other  revelations  of  a 
purpose  to  convey  to  the  hearer  the  knowledge 
of  a  series  of  emotional  states,  we  might  rest 
here  and  declare  that  the  existence  of  a  pro- 
gramme symphony  was  established.  But  this 
is  not  all.  I  have  spoken  of  a  yearning  motive, 
which  is  used  to  introduce  the  symphony. 
Later  in  the  first  movement  (using  the  conven- 
tional terminology)  appears  a  theme  whose 
character  is  so  similar  that  I  always  think  of  it 
as  the  motive  of  love's  tenderness,  fittingly  as- 
sociated, as  it  is,  with  the  motive  of  joy.  It  is 
this: 


ft  dolce. 


If  my  view  of  Schumann's  method  of  compos- 
ing the  D  minor  symphony  is  correct,  there 
should  be  a  counterpart  of  this  theme  in  the 
finale.  So  there  is,  and  Schumann  uses  it  to  be- 
gin his  coda,  his  last  burst  of  rapturous  triumph. 


234  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

Put  them  in  the  same  key  and  try  them  con- 
nectedly in  the  order  in  which  they  stand  here, 
and  you  will  see  how  beautifully  one  supplements 
the  other  in  feeling  as  well  as  in  melodic  char- 
acter. Surely,  we  must  admit,  remembering  the 
composer's  indisputable  attempt  to  give  his  work 
unity,  that  his  purpose  governed  the  construc- 
tion of  these  two  themes. 

Again,  having  given  free  rein  to  his  expres- 
sion of  love's  joy  and  tenderness  in  the  first 
movement,  he  enters  immediately  upon  the 
romanza.  This  is  clearly  a  serenade  beneath 
the  window  of  his  bride.  That  Schumann  in- 
tended to  give  it  such  a  character  is  shown  by 
his  use  in  the  original  score  of  the  guitar,  after- 
ward taken  out  because  it  was  ineffective  in  the 
mass  of  strings.  If  Schumann  had  written  the 
D  minor  symphony  thirty  years  later,  he  would 
have  used  a  harp  and  achieved  his  effect  fully ; 
but  he  was  too  close  to  Beethoven  to  know  the 
value  of  that  improvement  on  the  model  of 
symphonic  instrumentation  left  by  the  mighty 
Ludwig.  Yet  in  his  romanza  he  continues  to 
exploit  his  new  treatment  of  symphonic  form  in 
a  most  touching  manner;  for  immediately  after 
the  first  enunciation  of  the  theme  of  the  serenade, 
he  recurs  to  the  yearning  motive,  thus  giving  us 
a  most  eloquent  expression  of  the  feelings  of  the 


THE  PR  0  GRA  MME-S  YMMOXl '. 


235 


singer  beneath  the  window.     He  is  outside,  but 
he  yearns  to  be  at  her  side. 

Here  follows  one  of  the  loveliest  touches  in 
the  whole  work.  The  yearning  melody  ends 
with  this  passage : 


And  this  is  succeeded  at  once  by  a  very  beauti- 
ful section  in  which  the  body  of  strings  plays 
the  subjoined  air,  obviously  formed  from  the 
passage  just  given  : 


»--^ 


=fc^ 


g^S^plllf 


i£E*E 


And    above   this   the   voice   of   a  single  violin 
sings  the  following  lovely  variation  : 


Wtrf"*^ 


236  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

This  is  a  marvellous  working  out  of  the  yearn- 
ing melody  with  which  the  symphony  begins, 
is  it  not  ?  How  such  treatment  as  this  reveals 
us  the  closeness  of  Schumann's  self-analysis  and 
the  firmness  of  his  purpose  to  express  his  heart 
in  his  music  !  How  thoroughly  it  explains  to  us 
his  recourse  to  the  orchestra  to  obtain  adequate 
means  for  the  representation  of  the  multitude 
of  joyous  and  tender  emotions  which  crowded 
his  heart  in  the  full  realization  of  all  his  hopes! 
If  this  is  not  the  tone-poem  of  a  genius,  where 
are  we  to  look  for  one  ? 

After  the  romanza  the  composer  passes  with- 
out pause  to  the  scherzo.  It  has  always  seemed 
to  me  that  conductors  who  are  resolved  to  inter- 
rupt the  continuous  flow  of  this  symphony  at 
some  point  would  better  make  the  break  be- 
tween the  romanza  and  the  scherzo  than  else- 
where. The  connection  between  these  two 
movements  at  the  point  of  contact  is  less  marked, 
I  think,  than  that  between  the  first  two.  The 
scherzo  itself  is  true  to  its  name.  It  is  play- 
ful and  airy,  the  badinage  of  the  lover.  But 
mark  how  charmingly  he  reminds  the  object  of 
his  affection  of  the  yearning  mood  that  has  pre- 
vailed in  his  heart  so  much  of  the  time.  He 
does  it  in  the  trio,  not  by  a  repetition  of  the 
yearning  melody  itself,  but  by  a  reproduction  in 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY. 


237 


all  the  first  violins  of  the  variation  given  in  the 
romanza  to  a  solo  violin  : 


It  is  with  a  working  out  of  this  melody  that 
he  concludes  the  scherzo  and  returns  to  the  first 
theme  of  the  whole  symphony,  which  is  given 
out  by  the  first  strings,  accompanied  by  the 
tremolo  of  the  second  violins  and  violas,  sus- 
tained chords  in  the  wood,  and  declamatory 
phrases  in  the  brass.  It  reminds  one  of  the 
wonderful  passage  from  the  scherzo  to  the  finale 
of  Beethoven's  fifth,  though  it  has  not  the  im- 
pressive mystery  of  that  awe-inspiring  episode. 
Schumann  lets  his  now  triumphant  mood  grow 
through  the  orchestra  till  he  reaches  a  pause  on 
a  full  forte  chord.  Then  he  bursts  into  his 
paean  of  victory  previously  described.  This 
movement  contains  considerable  new  material, 
all  of  which,  however,  is  bright  in  movement 
and  happy  in  character.  The  hearer  of  the 
symphony  finds  no  difficulty  in  following  its 
treatment.  I  cannot  agree  with  Prout,  who 
says  that  the  free  fantasia  of  this  part  is  labored. 


238  ROBERT  SCHUMANN: 

The  entire  work  has  always  impressed  me  as 
being  singularly  devoid  of  obtrusive  evidence  of 
the  great  amount  of  thought  which  a  study  of 
its  construction  reveals.  I  heard  it  several 
times  before  the  most  obvious  passages  of  repe- 
tition forced  themselves  upon  my  attention. 
The  less  patent  did  not  reveal  themselves  ex- 
cept under  a  careful  study  of  the  score. 

After  what  has  been  said  about  the  D  minor 
symphony  the  C  major  may  be  dismissed  with 
shorter  consideration.  Schumann  himself  tells 
us  that  it  was  sketched  "  during  a  period  of 
great  physical  suffering  and  severe  mental  con- 
flict, in  the  endeavor  to  combat  the  difficulties 
of  his  circumstances — a  conflict  which  he  says 
left  its  traces  behind  it,  and  which  in  fact  led  at 
last  to  his  unhappy  death."  What  a  flood  of 
light  this  explanation  lets  in  upon  the  tremen- 
dous vigor  and  stress  of  the  entire  work.  How 
fully  it  makes  us  understand  the  difference  be- 
tween this  and  the  Spring  symphony.  We  can- 
not fail  to  be  caught  and  carried  by  the  flood 
of  power — aggressive,  militant  power — in  this  C 
major  work,  and  here  is  a  satisfactory  reason  for 
its  presence.  Truly  this  is  the  voice  of  a  great 
singer.  In  this  work  we  see  a  further  use  of 
the  methods  of  construction  employed  in  the 
D   minor  symphony.     They  are  not  so  elabo- 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  239 

rately  carried  out  because  the  composer's  pur- 
pose did  not  demand  it.  But  he  does  not  lose 
sight  of  his  idea  of  repeating  certain  primary 
themes  in  every  movement.  The  sostenuto  as- 
sai  in  the  C  major  is  "an  introduction  not  to 
the  first  allegro,  but  to  the  whole  symphony," 
as  Sir  George  Grove  has  noted.  "  The  call  of 
the  brass  instruments,  which  forms  the  first  and 
most  enduring  phrase  in  the  opening,  is  heard 
in  the  same  instruments  at  the  climax  of  the  al- 
legro, again  at  the  close  of  the  allegro,  and  lastly 
in  the  termination  of  the  finale,  and  thus  acts 
the  part  of  a  motto  or  refrain."  Sir  George  also 
points  out  that  other  phrases  of  the  introduction 
occur  later,  and  that  the  theme  of  the  adagio  re- 
turns in  the  finale.  He  also  specifies  the  very 
beautiful  employment  of  a  subsidiary  melody  in 
the  introduction  as  the  basis  of  the  second  sub- 
ject of  the  first  movement.  I  think  Sir  George 
Grove  did  not  read  between  the  lines  here.  The 
probabilities  are  that  Schumann  created  the  two 
subjects  of  his  first  movement  before  he  under- 
took the  composition  of  the  introduction,  and 
this  subsidiary  melody  in  the  introduction  was 
derived  purposely  from  the  second  subject  of 
the  movement.  This  would  be  more  in  accord 
with  the  evidences  of  deep  design  which  the  en- 
tire symphony  contains. 


240  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

I  may  be  pardoned  for  a  momentary  digres- 
sion  here  to  remark  that  Sir  George  seems  puz- 
zled to  account  for  the  scherzo's  two  trios,  and 
timidly  supposes  that  the  composer  may  have 
got  the  idea  from  Beethoven's  repetition  of  the 
trios  in  the  fourth  and  seventh  symphonies,  or 
from  "some  '  cassatio  '  of  Mozart  or  Haydn." 
He  should  have  known  that  in  Sebastian  Bach's 
great  concerto  in  F  for  solo  violin,  two  horns, 
three  oboes,  bassoon,  and  strings  there  is  a  minuet 
with  three  trios,  after  each  of  which  the  minuet 
is  repeated.  And  he  should  also  have  known 
that  Mozart  took  up  this  idea  half  a  century 
later.  In  his  divertimento  in  D  (Kochel,  131), 
there  are  two  minuets,  the  first  of  which  has 
three  trios  and  the  second  two.  This  use  of  a 
second  trio,  therefore,  is  not  a  modern  custom 
and  may  be  dismissed. 

The  matter  under  consideration  is  the  repeated 
use  of  the  same  themes  in  different  parts  of  the 
symphony,  a  fashion  which  was  the  model  of 
the  Liszt  variety  of  piano  concerto,  and  which 
unquestionably  led  that  writer  to  the  invention 
of  the  symphonic  poem.  The  question  may 
now  be  asked,  and  it  is  very  pertinent,  Whether 
this  repetition  of  themes  is  a  confession  of  weak- 
ness on  the  part  of  the  composer  ?  Does  it  mean 
that  he  is  not  able  to  invent  new  melodies  for 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  241 

each  new  movement  ?  Or  does  it  mean  that  he 
is  able  to  produce  melodies  which  will  bear  ex- 
tended discussion  ?  I  fancy  this  question  is 
not  so  very  difficult  to  answer  after  all.  The 
thoughtful  student  will  readily  perceive  that  it 
speedily  resolves  itself  into  a  question  of  fact : 
Do  the  ideas  which  are  repeated  bear  the  repeti- 
tion and  elaboration  ? 

If  the  recurring  melodies  strike  the  mind  with 
fresh  force  at  each  re-entrance,  if  they  gain  in 
beauty  and  significance  with  elaboration,  the 
composer  is  justified  in  repeating  them  for  the 
sake  of  euphonious  effect  alone,  without  regard 
for  deeper  aesthetic  considerations.  Schumann's 
D  minor  is  the  most  conspicuous  example  of  a 
symphony  written  in  this  manner.  Does  it 
weary  the  hearer  to  find  a  theme  of  the  first 
movement  used  as  the  foundation  for  the  finale  ? 
I  think  not.  On  the  contrary,  I  think  that, 
from  a  purely  sensuous  point  of  view,  the  un- 
familiar hearer  is  always  surprised  and  delighted 
at  the  return,  and  at  the  new  and  triumphant 
modification  of  the  melody. 

But  we  have  already  seen  that  Schumann  did 
not  use  his  ideas  over  and  over  simply  for  the 
purpose  of  ringing  euphonic  changes  on  them. 
He  had  a  deeper  purpose — one  which  stamps 
him  as  a  great  musical  thinker  and  demonstrates 
16 


242  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

that  he  had  explored  the  resources  of  music  as 
an  emotional  language.  The  character  of  this 
C  major  symphony  is,  as  we  have  seen,  aggres- 
sive, resisting,  combative.  He  wrote  it  when 
in  the  heat  of  a  physical  and  mental  conflict. 
In  the  light  of  this  fact  examine  that  brazen 
phrase  with  which  the  symphony  begins.  Surely 
this  is  a  challenge,  the  fanfare  of  the  knight  en- 
tering the  lists  against  fate.  It  is  stern,  weighty, 
and  resolute,  the  expression  of  the  determina- 
tion of  a  brave  and  unyielding  spirit.  It  is 
simply  the  Schumann  leit  motive,  representing 
through  the  storm  and  stress  of  the  symphonic 
struggle  the  calm  courage  of  the  man.  And  at 
the  end  to  what  alone  does  this  phrase  give 
way?  To  a  triumphant  hymn  of  victory,  a  pro- 
phetic vision  of  the  composer  which  was  des- 
tined never  to  be  realized. 

Does  the  reader  think  these  explanations  fan- 
ciful ?  They  are  no  more  so  than  the  explana- 
tions of  Beethoven's  third  and  fifth.  They  are 
no  more  so  than  those  of  Wagner's  Walhalla  or 
"Wanderer"  motives.  And  the  writer  does  not 
deem  those  explanations  fanciful  in  the  least. 
They  are  logically  deduced  from  substantial 
data.  The  explanations  of  Schumann's  D  mi- 
nor and  C  major  symphonies  herewith  given  are 
deduced  in  the  same  way ;  and  a  suggestion  is 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  243 

offered  as  to  the  value  of  the  repetition  of  sub- 
jects. The  reader,  of  course,  will  accept  it  or 
not  as  he  chooses.  But  I  may  add  this  :  That 
it  has  always  been,  since  the  days  of  Bach,  the 
object  of  composers  to  express  their  own  souls. 
Indeed,  the  endeavor  to  do  this  can  be  traced 
back  to  even  earlier  days  in  the  history  of  mu- 
sic. No  sooner  had  the  mass  of  contrapuntal 
learning  which  had  been  growing  for  several 
centuries  reached  its  height  in  the  hair-splitting 
and  puzzle-building  of  Okeghem's  time,  than 
Josquin  des  Pres,  his  pupil,  sought  to  impart 
euphonic  beauty  to  his  music  ;  and  but  little 
later  Orlando  Lasso  was  producing  music  which 
nobly  expressed  religious  feeling,  the  only  emo- 
tional utterance  attempted  in  the  art-music  of 
the  time.  Thenceforward  composers  developed 
the  emotional  element  till  they  reached  a  com- 
prehension of  the  great  truth  that  they  must 
look  within  for  their  inspiration.  As  Dr. 
Henry  Maudsley  has  it  :  "  It  is  not  man's  func- 
tion to  think  and  feel  only ;  his  inner  life  he 
must  express  or  utter  in  action  of  some  kind — 
in  word  or  deed."  Music  is  the  composer's 
word,  and  by  a  thoughtful  study  of  his  own 
mental  and  emotional  states  he  brings  under 
his  survey  the  entire  psychic  experience  of 
humanity.     The  essential    characteristic  of   ro- 


244  ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 

manticism  in  music  is  the  ceaseless  endeavor  to 
reveal  this  inner  life.  If  Robert  Schumann 
was  truly  a  romanticist,  as  people  are  in  the 
habit  of  saying,  without  much  thought  about  it, 
then  he  was  trying  to  disclose  his  inner  self  in 
his  music,  and  the  insight  given  by  the  compos- 
er into  his  emotional  states  at  the  time  of  the 
composition  of  the  D  minor  and  C  major  sym- 
phonies justifies  the  explanations  which  have 
been  offered. 

"  It  requires  much  time  to  discover  musical 
Mediterraneans,"  says  epigrammatic  Berlioz, 
"  and  still  more  to  master  their  navigation."  It 
took  much  time  to  discover  the  true  vocation  of 
programme  music,  and  there  are  many  whose 
eyes  are  still  blinded.  It  was  reserved  for  Beet- 
hoven to  show  how  the  symphony  could  be 
made  to  utter  the  life  of  the  inner  man.  It  was 
Schumann's  task  to  teach  us  a  new  method  of 
symphonic  speech.  I  suppose  the  general  judg- 
ment of  cultivated  lovers  of  music  will  award 
Schumann  the  second  place  among  sympho- 
nists  ;  yet  I  often  feel  that  the  words  of  his  let- 
ter to  Kossmaly  on  another  subject  would  be  ap- 
plicable to  this.  He  says  :  "  In  your  article  on 
the  '  Lied,'  I  was  a  little  grieved  that  you  placed 
me  in  the  second  class.  I  do  not  lay  claim  to 
the  first,  but  I  think  I  have  a  claim  to  a  place  of 


THE  PROGRAMME-SYMPHONY.  245 

my  own,  and  least  of  all  do  I  wish  to  see  my- 
self associated  with  Reissiger,  Kurschmann,  etc. 
1  know  that  my  aims,  my  resources,  are  far  be- 
yond theirs,  and  I  hope  you  will  concede  this 
and  not  accuse  me  of  vanity,  which  is  far  from 
me. 

Schumann  would  have  asked  no  higher  meed 
of  praise  than  to  be  ranked  second  to  Beetho- 
ven as  a  symphonist.  But  let  us  remember 
when  we  set  him  there  that  he  had  certainly  a 
great  claim  to  a  place  of  his  own.  The  revela- 
tions made  to  us  by  the  scores  of  the  two  sym- 
phonies which  I  have  discussed  lift  the  curtains 
from  the  inner  shrine  of  a  genius  of  the  first 
order. 


THE  STORY  OF  MUSIC. 

By  W.    J.    HENDERSON. 


12mo,  Ornamental  Cloth  Cover,  $1.00. 


"  Mr.  Henderson  tells  in  a  clear,  comprehensive,  and  logical 
way  the  story  of  the  growth  of  modern  music.  The  work  is  pre- 
fixed by  a  newly-prepared  chronological  table,  which  will  be  found 
invaluable- by  musical  students,  and  which  contains  many  dates  and 
notes  of  important  events  that  are  not  further  mentioned  in  the  text. 
.     .  Few  cont-umporary  writers  on  music  have  a  more  agreeable 

style  and  few,  even  among  the  renowned  and  profound  Germans,  a 
firmer  grasp  of  the  subject.  The  book,  moreover,  will  be  valuable 
to  the  student  for  its  references,  which  form  a  guide  to  the  best 
literature  of  music  in  all  languages.  1  ho  story  of  the  development 
of  religious  music,  a  subject  that  is  too  often  made  forbidding  and 
uninteresting  to  the  general  reader,  is  here  related  so  simply  as  to 
interest  and  instruct  any  reader,  whether  or  not  he  has  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  harmonics  and  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
estimable  dominant  and  the  deplorable  consecutive  fifths.  The 
chapter  on  instruments  and  instrumental  forms  is  valuable  for 
exactly  the  same  reasons." — New  York  Times. 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  open  a  new  book  and  discover  on  its  first 
page  that  the  clearness  and  simple  beauty  of  its  typography  has  a 
harmony  in  the  clearness,  directness,  and  restful  finish  of  the 
writer's  style.  .  .  .  Mr.  Henderson  has  accomplished,  with  ran 
judgment  and  skill,  the  task  of  telling  the  story  of  the  growth  of  the 
art  of  music  without  encumbering  his  pages  with  excess  of  bio- 
graphical material.  He  has  aimed  at  a  connected  recital,  and,  for  its 
sake,  has  treated  of  creative  epochs  and  epoch-making  works,  rather 
than  groups  of  composers  segregated  by  the  accidents  of  time  and 
space.  .  .  .  Admirable  for  its  succinctness,  clearness,  and  grace- 
fulness of  statement." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  The  work  is  both  statistical  and  narrative,  and  its  special 
design  is  to  give  a  detailed  and  comprehensive  history  of  the  various 
steps. in  the  development  of  music  as  an  art.  There  is  a  very  valu- 
able chronological  table,  which  presents  important  dates  that  could 
not  otherwise  be  well  introduced  into  the  book.  The  choice  style  in 
which  this  book  is  written  lends  its  added  charms  to  a  work  most 
important  on  the  literary  as  well  as  on  the  artistic  side  of  music." 

— Boston  Traveller. 

LONGMANS,    GREEN,    &    CO., 

91-93   Fifth   Avenue,   New   York. 


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